


The Space of Years Between Us (Has no Hold)

by AllThoseOtherWorlds



Series: Caged Grace [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A lot of introspection, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angel Sam Winchester, But as a result of elapsed time, But no torture, Enochian, Episode: s07e01 Meet the New Boss, Gen, Languages, M/M, Maybe slight crack for the premise, Memory Loss, Mostly Fluff, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Cage, Post-Hell, Pre-Slash, Wingfic, alternating pov, bit of angst, but not really, mentions of the cage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThoseOtherWorlds/pseuds/AllThoseOtherWorlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if things in the pit had gone differently? Michael and Lucifer don't torture or hurt Sam, but things take an unusual turn when his memories are unlocked, and he, Dean, and Castiel must deal with the consequences. Bobby just expects them to pitch in on the research while they're at his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam Gets out of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Anything in bold is being spoken in Enochian.

                Dean watched as Death opened the briefcase, his hand clenched around a glowing blue light which he knew must represent his brother’s soul. Sam – or the shell of a thing which had his mind – struggled and shied away, but it was too late and then he was gasping as the light adsorbed itself into him and he fainted. Dean let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding as he turned to Death, a question unasked in his eyes.

                Death looked as unreadable as ever. “There is something _different_ about his soul, but I do not know what it is. I have put it behind the wall along with his memories of the Cage.” His gaze softened slightly. “Sam’s soul is in better condition than I would have expected”

                That didn’t stop him from slipping into unconsciousness when Cas broke down the wall.

***

                Sam entered Bobby’s house, looking with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation at the figure sitting by the desk. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but this – this image of himself just sitting there and watching him – wasn’t it. He approached the figure carefully, still remembering the fight he’d gotten into with the soulless version of himself. It wasn’t an aspect of his identity he wanted to acknowledge, but it was also one he knew he couldn’t simply forget.

                “Hello?” He called out softly, knowing that the figure could already see him, so there wasn’t any cover to blow.

                The figure (the aspect of his identity, he reminded himself) responded in something that sounded like Enochian. Sam didn’t really speak Enochian except for a few ritual words, so he wasn’t really sure why he would be speaking it to himself now, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. Regardless of what happened, he had to get back out and help Dean. Who knew what Cas and Crowley had managed to do by now? There was too much at stake to not take the risk, no matter what it was.

                At least he didn’t seem to be violent. The figure stood and faced him, but his eyes were calm and his movements seemed deliberately nonthreatening. Sam tensed up as the other figure drew out a knife, but relaxed when it was presented to him handle-first. He grasped the hilt, nodded in acknowledgement at this strange Other-But-Same person, and stabbed him, thinking of Dean and Bobby and Cas as the light of memories enveloped him.

***

                Dean sighed and closed the book he’d been staring at for the past ten minutes. There was absolutely nothing in there on how to kill, trap, or otherwise threaten an angel-turned-possibly-god, and if he was honest with himself it still hurt to even think about Cas and his betrayal. And Sam. Who still hadn’t woken up since his strange and sudden appearance a day and a half ago as they faced the Thing-That-Was-Castiel.

                They had been overjoyed to see him, of course. After he had lapsed into the coma, Dean had been terrified that he wouldn’t wake up, that somehow Death and later Cas had been mistaken or lying when they said that Sam’s soul was in remarkably good condition – although obviously not mint (Cas had confirmed that Sam’s soul was in decent condition, but maintained that there was something strange, although the wall was too thick for him to tell what it was). As far as he was concerned, as long as Sam was awake and moving they could work out the rest. So when Sam had tried to stab Cas – understandably – and then just sort of stood there in stunned silence for the rest of the conversation before collapsing, they hadn’t thought much of it. But Dean had never been very patient, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait for Sam to wake up without losing his mind.

                Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait much longer. He heard footsteps in the hallway and looked up to see Sam standing by the doorframe, staring at them with an incredulous half-smile on his face, as though he couldn’t believe that he was really there. Dean grinned at him and stood, relief washing over him as they swept into a hug and Sam felt as strong as ever.

                “Hey Sam, good to see you back on your feet again.” He smiled. “How are you feeling?”

                Sam just stared at him with the expression he always used when he was puzzling something out while doing research for a case. Dean waited, his relief at seeing Sam alive melting into uncertainty and doubt and at least five different scenarios ranging from Soulless Sam somehow being back to Sam having completely lost his mind in the Cage. Just as he was about to freak out completely, Sam responded.

                “I… am well. It is good to see you again, Dean.”

                The words and pacing were strange, as though Sam wasn’t entirely sure that he was speaking properly, but meant everything he said. And there was a slight accent to his voice that had never been there before. It was strange and hard to recognize, and reminded Dean a little bit of old, musty books and soft formality. Dean didn’t know what to make of it. “You sure you’re okay? Can you hear properly? You sound a bit strange.”

                Bobby arrived on the scene as Sam was contemplating Dean’s words. “Dean, ya idjit! Why didn’t you tell me Sam was up and about?” He grinned and clapped Sam on the back. “Good to have you back, kid.”

                Sam’s ‘Mildly Puzzled – Do Not Disturb Calculations’ face had deepened, and Dean was a little worried that it would short out. Bobby leaned over and hissed at Dean. “What’s up with him? He still got all his marbles?”

                Dean was spared a response by the sound of Sam’s voice. “I am fine. Just translating” He smiled sheepishly. “English. Enochian. It has been many years.”

                Dean and Bobby exchanged a glance as their brains simultaneously lit up like cartoon lightbulbs, and Dean almost reached up to smack himself in the head.

                Enochian. Sam was used to hearing Enochian. Michael and Lucifer must have lapsed into their native tongues during Sam’s’ time in the pit. That little realization cleared up most of his worries about Sam’s hearing, ability to speak, and brain processing power, but there were still too many questions left unanswered. He turned back to his brother. “Okay, used to Enochian or not, you’ve still gotta talk to us man. How are you? What happened? You were fine on English until that wall came down.”

                Sam looked like he maybe got half of the words Dean had said, but he seemed to get the gist anyway. He got the sort of contrary look on his face that usually preceded the assertion that everything was fine when Bobby piped up. “I don’t know about you boys, but this seems like it could be a while and it may as well be at a table over some beers.” Without waiting for a response from either of them, he turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving them to follow. Once everyone was settled, he turned pointedly to Sam. “Okay, boy. Start talking”

***

It was good to see Dean again. Logically, Sam knew that he’d seen Dean just a few days ago, before Cas brought down the wall, but the memories of the Cage seemed to have wedged themselves into where the wall broke rather than where they really belonged, and it felt as though he hadn’t seen Dean in hundreds of years. It felt as though he hadn’t seen _anything_ except for Michael and Lucifer in hundreds of years. He had to keep himself from staring at everything – the walls, the floor, the kitchen appliances – but mostly at Dean and Bobby. It was strange even to feel and taste the beer as he drank it, after so many remembered years in the Cage where there was nothing even remotely comparable.

                He felt strange in another way too, as though there was something buzzing slightly under his skin, and he didn’t know what it was. Everything looked just a little different in a way he couldn’t quite identify. For now, he tried to ignore it, and pushed the feeling all the way to the back of his mind, where it wouldn’t interfere with anything. Whatever it was, he could deal with it later. For now, he had to focus on Dean and Bobby. It was hard enough to translate what he wanted to say into English for them, and it would be even worse if he was distracted. He started to speak, using as few words as possible and lapsing into Enochian when he forgot how to convey a particular concept. It took him a while to get some of the words, and he had to pause more frequently than he felt he ought to. He wanted to apologize for the whole mess – his sudden (to them) inability to communicate with ease, the distractions, and the strangeness – but he knew Dean wanted an explanation before an apology. So he started to speak.

                “We were in the Cage. Michael. Lucifer. Me. No Adam. They fought at first. Arguing, **lecturing…”** Here he started to use some hand motions, illustrating his words. “They **disagreed** and tried to fight, to kill, but no. Souls, Cage, not bodies … They did not care of me. To them I was nothing.” Dean and Bobby were looking at him, interested and absorbed, and both doing passable jobs of ignoring his changed speech patterns, so he continued. “Then they stopped. No point … **They called a truce.** They spoke. To each other. To me ... Michael wanted to hurt me. **Torture.** Lucifer said no ... Said talking makes time shorter than pain. Said he knew from **experience** that hate made **eternity** longer.” He paused, remembering. “Lucifer was angry, but wise enough. And not wanting pain. Michael **came around.** We talked. Years.” He looked up at them. “I talked of you – Dean, Bobby. Castiel too –“And here he made note and tried to ignore Dean’s flinch at the name – “Everything. But talking and **experiencing** are … not the same.  And I know I was just here, but I was there for so long … The time is out of place. The Cage is **between** then and now, not when it **should** be.” He looked at them, hoping enough of his point had gotten across. They both looked slightly stunned, but not too confused. Sam decided not to mention the strange buzzing feeling, since he seemed to be suppressing it or whatever, and it didn’t seem important. Bobby had written down the Enochian words to look up later. Dean was staring at Sam with a strange look on his face.

                “Sammy, how long were you in the Cage?”

                Sam shrugged. “Lost count. Not same as Hell. Hundreds?”

                Dean gaped. “Of years?”

                Sam nodded, and would have elaborated except that he was worn out from what he had already said. The years had all blended into each other, but he knew it had been more than a hundred years in the Cage before he had been released. When he was first in the cage, watching Lucifer and Michael yell at each other and fight in a language he hadn’t quite understood at the time, he’d been bracing himself for an eternity of torture and pain once the archangels got bored of being pissy with each other and turned on him. He hadn’t been expecting Lucifer to protect him, but he knew now why he’d done it. Lucifer hated humanity, but he actually got more entertainment out of bragging than torture, and he seemed to have some sort of grudging respect for Sam. He was still a whiny child throwing a hissy fit at humanity, of course, but he wasn’t exactly as sadistic as Sam thought he was. Apparently if torturing people wouldn’t erase humanity or win over the favour of his vessel, it wasn’t worth the effort.

                Sam pulled his attention back to the present and realised that Dean and Bobby were staring at him expectantly. He gave them a look that he hoped was sheepish and questioning, hoping that they would repeat whatever it was they had said. They did.

                “Where’d you drift off to?” Dean asked, proffering him a plate with a sandwich. “You hungry?”

                Sam gratefully accepted the plate, not realising that he was hungry until Dean pointed it out to him. Hunger wasn’t something he felt used to, despite knowing that he’d eaten more recently than the hundred (hundreds?) years his mind felt like it had been.

                “Dean, I am sorry for this,” he said, gesturing to himself. “I do not wish to be a pain.” He wanted to add, _you deserve better than this. You should still be living happily with Lisa and Ben and not having to deal with a brother who was soulless for a while and is now semi-broken,_ again _._ But he didn’t.

                Dean just gave him one of his Serious Looks, like he did whenever he thought there was a chick-flick moment coming and wanted to avoid it before it got too far. “Hey, no problem. I’m just glad you’re back in one piece.” He grinned. “besides, I should brush up on my Enochian anyway.”

                Sam swallowed, reluctant to broach the next topic: Cas.


	2. Dealing with the Leviathans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have guessed from the title, this is the chapter where I remove the leviathans from the plotline, since I had no use for them. There is new stuff in the chapter too, though, to continue the plotline I am working with.

                Sam still wasn’t all that great with English, but he was pretty certain that they were summoning Crowley to summon Death to kill Cas. Who was trying to be God. At least Dean seemed to think it was a good idea. Death was terrifying – for good reason – and if whatever they were trying to do didn’t work, he was pretty sure they were all screwed. He was also pretty sure that Dean hadn’t even considered the idea of trying to just _talk_ to Cas. Sam knew that he should probably have a grudge against the guy for bringing down his wall or whatever, but there just seemed to be too much distance around it now for him to really hold a grudge. Dean, on the other hand, had no such space and was firmly opposed to any attempt at reasoning with the Angel/Self Proclaimed God/Whatever. Sam sighed and followed Dean into the room with the lightning stone.

                Miraculously, the ritual seemed to work out okay. Well, Death had broken loose and Cas had shown up and Death hadn’t killed Cas after all, but no one was dead and they had a plan to fix what had happened. Sam was going to call it a win. When Death first saw them he looked like he was on the verge of saying something about Sam, but he ended up just giving them one of his I-Am-Above-This looks and staying silent. Sam wanted to ask, but then Cas had shown up, looking like he was in pain and trying not to show it. The Angel-or-Whatever-he-was could be incredibly hard to read when he wanted to be, so Sam had no idea what Cas was really thinking. He had claimed to be all right, but his neutral facial expression couldn’t hide the fact that there was clearly something wrong.

                Sam was worried about Cas and he thought that Dean would be too, if he wasn’t so intent on being angry. If Death was right – and he was probably above lying – then Castiel’s vessel was falling apart and some sort of dangerous monster piranhas were trying to rip their way out of him. Cas – or “New God”, or whatever – was strange and a bit terrifying, but he reminded Sam a little bit of what he himself must have been like when he was high on demon blood. He was terrifying and powerful and convinced he was right, but Sam didn’t think he was beyond redemption. And Dean still wasn’t willing to talk. They needed Castiel’s help if they were to put things right, but when Sam had put out a tentative “Need Cas. Talk?” Dean had snapped at him and gone stony.

                But now, Dean or no Dean, Sam wasn’t going to just ignore Cas and ruin their chances of fixing things. The strangeness that he couldn’t completely ignore (though he was trying, because with everything else Dean didn’t deserve another problem) and the weight of time suddenly spliced into his memories may have made everything seem a bit distant, but he still remembered what it felt like to screw up. He remembered the demon blood and the apocalypse, and being soulless. But he was here now, and Dean was with him. He’d gotten another chance, so didn’t Cas deserve one too?

                He breathed in the cool air of the scrapyard and started to pray to Cas (in Enochian, since he knew the angel could understand it). **“Hey Castiel. Um… Maybe this is pointless. Look, I do not know if any part of you even cares, but, um, I still think you are one of us, deep down. I mean, way, way, way off the reservation, but… Look, we still have until dawn to stop this. Let us help. Please.”**

He didn’t know if Cas would respond – or if he would even get the prayer in his current state – but at least he had tried. Heading back inside, he traded a look with Dean, who must have known what he’d been doing. Before either of them could say anything or think of any sort of a plan, they heard Cas’ voice from the doorway.

                “Sam”

                Despite their situation and the battered appearance of the angel, Sam smiled a little with relief. “Cas”

                “I heard your call.”

                Sam didn’t even bother to try to translate what Cas had said. It was more important for now to get the ritual completed. Cas was looking at him oddly, but Dean interrupted, voicing the thoughts Sam hadn’t. “We can have a meet and greet later. Let’s get to work.”

                Sam watched as Cas recited the Enochian chant to open the gates to purgatory. The prep for the ritual had gone all right – they’d had a basic idea of what to do from the last time, and Cas had given instructions in English to Dean or Enochian to Sam (he had, apparently, picked up on that from Dean or from the prayer) when they had something wrong. Dean and Cas were still brittle around each other, and Cas’ attempt to apologize seemed to fall flat, but as far as saving the world was going, everything seemed to be okay for now. Which was why something would probably go wrong at any moment.

                Cas finished reciting the chant soon enough, and the gates to Purgatory opened. He cried out in pain and Sam watched as a flood of souls rushed out and returned to their home. It was strange to see the raw souls rushing through the air, knowing that he had been essentially like that for hundreds of years in the Cage. Castiel let out an involuntary groan of pain and Sam knew from his face that their job still wasn’t complete. The Leviathans were still in there somewhere, and they were running out of time. He had to help Cas.

                Without thinking, he reached out towards the angel. Caught up in the moment and in the need to make things right, he let go of the defences he’d put up against the buzzing sensation, and let the strange humming energy he’d been ignoring rush over him.

                He was aware of a few things after that. First was the relief of watching Cas regain some of his strength. Watching, he saw Cas straighten and face the gateway as though it were a challenge, forcing a whirlwind of black _things_ to flee from him. Sam guessed they were the Leviathans, because he was certain they weren’t souls and they didn’t quite look like demons.

                The next thing he was aware of was a bright flair of pain throughout his body – and especially his back – and he could feel himself falling into unconsciousness. He had the vague impression of voices, of confusion and worry, but they slipped from him as the world went dark.

***

                Sam awoke to find himself staring up at the walls and ceiling of Bobby’s living room. The sight would once have been familiar and comforting, but now all he had was the recollection that it once was so, and an unsettling sense of confusion and almost-guilt as he needed to take a moment to realize where they were.

                He felt strange.

                He was feeling a little bit disconnected from himself, and although he thought he was uninjured he couldn’t quite figure out where all of his limbs were, or why there seem to be so many of them. Everything looked a bit sharper and clearer, and there seemed to be a depth to things that there wasn’t before. He didn’t know what any of it meant, but he knew who he should probably ask. At least he wasn’t in the panic room, so he probably hadn’t suddenly turned evil on them or anything.

                “Dean?” he called, certain that there was someone within earshot. “Castiel?”

                He heard footsteps in the next room (the study?) and managed to find his arms and push himself up into a sitting position before Dean and Cas walked in. They seemed shaken, and Dean was – as always – sort of concerned and worried and trying to act like he wasn’t, but they didn’t seem to be overtly alarmed, although Dean was still pissed at Cas. Sam wasn’t sure where all that had come from, but he knew it to be true.

                He turned to Cas, with an apologetic look at Dean. **“Is everything okay? Are the leviathans gone?”**

                Cas nodded. **“Yes, thanks to you. It was a close call.  How are you feeling?”**

                He shrugged. **“A bit strange, but I think I’m okay. What happened?”**

                Castiel’s expression grew mildly uncomfortable and he cast a look at Dean, who shook his head. “Hey man, I understood none of that conversation. This one’s on you to explain.”

                **“Sam, your soul was in the pit with two archangels as company for hundreds of years, without even a body to shield you from their graces. Had they chosen to attack you, the damage to your mind would have been devastating, but they chose to simply talk to you instead. We must assume that some of their grace … merged … with your soul and gave you … angelic properties.”** He looked uncomfortable. **“Nothing like this has ever happened before. You were suppressing the grace behind a wall at first, and then you suppressed it somewhat on your own, but when you helped me send the Leviathans back you let it out to lend me support. We do not believe there is anything which can be done about it now.”**

                As Cas stopped talking, Dean decided to finally chime in. “So, what he’s saying is that you started glowing and passed out, and we think you may be turning into an angel.”


	3. Sam is an Angel Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is most of the reason for the "slightly crack" tag. That, and the wingfic coming up next chapter.

                Sam floundered around for a moment before responding. “ **Uh... _What?_ ”** Then, “What?” Repeated in English for Dean’s benefit. “How?”

                If Cas’ and Dean’s explanations hadn’t been enough, the fact that his surprise blew out the lights in the room was probably enough to convince him.

                Dean jumped a little, but Cas looked unsurprised. “It may be a good idea for me to help you learn to control your power”

                “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sam could _feel_ the anger still burning under Dean’s skin. “I mean, your track record with power isn’t exactly stellar at the moment.”

                Cas was about to say something, but Sam cut in before they could escalate the discussion into an argument. “I am not, either,” he said, fumbling for the right words. “Good with power, I mean. But … I need learn.” He frowned. “Need _to_ learn. And Cas – angel.” He grinned at Dean. “You are not.”

                He shot Dean a pointed expression. “You feel… anger. At Cas. I get it. But… we need him. You”- and here he gestured at both of them –“need to … make peace.” He gave up on the English for the moment, tired of translating. Apparently, whatever had happened to him hadn’t given him the automatic knowledge angels seemed to have of everything – or increased his mental stamina. **“Cas, Dean has a right to be angry with you and we all know it. But I believe you when you say you are sorry. You should not have done it, but we need you and we need to work together, so tell Dean that you two can fight and argue and sulk or whatever, but you need to be able to cooperate when it matters.”**

                He waited for Cas to relay his message to Dean, and when they both looked suitably chastised he added “When to start?”

***

                Dean couldn’t believe it. First his brother had demon blood in him, then he had Lucifer in him, then he didn’t have a soul in him, and now he was apparently some sort of angel-human hybrid thing? Their lives were weird as hell. Weirder, actually.

                When he had first heard Sam’s story of his time in the Cage, Dean had been both relieved and a little terrified. As far as he was concerned the two archangels in the pit were still massively immature jerks, but he would forever be grateful that they had apparently chosen not to torture his younger brother. He still remembered – and sometimes dreamt about – his time in Hell, and he was glad that Sam hadn’t had to deal with that, or anything like it.

                On the other hand, this whole I-Speak-Enochian-Now thing sort of sucked, and he was afraid both of the new communication barrier and of what it represented. The only reason Sam had to translate everything into English now before his spoke was the incredible amount of time he’d spent in the Cage. How much had he forgotten? What did Dean mean to him now? Dean knew he was being stupid, but he couldn’t help but worry (in a part of his mind reserved for feeling things and then pretending he didn’t feel them) that all that time – all that distance – had lessened the bond he had been hoping they had finally started to rebuild after the whole Apocalypse fiasco.

                When Sam had started glowing back at the Purgatory gate, Dean couldn’t think of what else to do but stare. One moment his brother was reaching out to Cas looking alarmed, and the next he was _glowing_ , and there was a white sort of light-thing reaching from him to Cas, and all these black forms spewing out of the angel, and that was when Dean decided it was probably safest to close his eyes. When he opened them again, the gate was closed, Sam was sprawled on the floor and moaning in pain, and Cas was standing there looking exhausted and extremely confused.

                Dean had tried to supress the hurt and anger he still felt towards the angel for the sake of ensuring that Sam was safe and figuring out _what the Hell was going on._ He had made Cas zap them back to Bobby’s before demanding answers. The old hunter had been called out to Nebraska to help someone with a case they were working, and had left as soon as he could make sure everyone was alive and not permanently damaged (after making them promise to explain everything the moment he got back).

                “Okay,” He growled at the angel slumping against the wall. “Talk.”

                Cas looked into the next room, where Sam was sleeping on the couch, before speaking. “About what, Dean? The Leviathans are back in Purgatory, I have devastated everything I tried to fix, and I believe your brother has somehow acquired angelic grace.”

                Dean reviewed the sentence in his head. _Leviathans – good. Cas – feeling guilty and he deserved it and we are so not going there right now. Sam –_ what? “Uh, that last one,” he managed. “Angelic grace?”

                Cas sighed, but straightened up as though he was starting to regain some of his energy. Dean knew that the experience with the souls and the Leviathans had drained and damaged him, but his skin wasn’t peeling off anymore, and he’d zapped them back so he still had his mojo, so Dean figured he’d be fine. “I thought I sensed something when I examined his soul, and again when I saw him with you and Death, but I thought I was mistaken. I do not know how this is possible. Dean, you must tell me what happened when Sam was in the Cage.”

                Dean bit back a response about how nothing would have happened if Cas had just dragged Sam out right in the first place. “Well, he said that Michael and Lucifer had hissy-fits at each other and argued for a while, but ignored him. Then I guess Michael got bored and wanted to torture him, but Lucifer put a stop to it.”

                Cas tilted his head slightly, forehead crinkling in confusion. “Lucifer tried to protect him?”

                “Uh, yeah. I guess he figured the time would pass more quickly if they were talking than if they were torturing. He convinced Michael and they spent the next hundred or hundreds of years just chatting it up or whatever.”

                Cas grew thoughtful. “Lucifer may still have felt some sort of connection to Sam, and his anger is with his brother and with the human race as a whole, not with his vessel.” He nodded. “It makes sense that he would rather talk than torture.”

                “Yeah, I figured the story was true,” Dean snapped, “But that doesn’t explain how my brother is turning into an angel, does it?”

                They’d spent the next hour doing research and throwing ideas back and forth. It almost reminded Dean of the good old days, when all they were dealing with was the apocalypse and at least one angel could still be trusted. Most of him was still angry at Cas for betraying him, and for hurting Sam, and he certainly still blamed him for this whole sorry mess, but there was another little piece of him which really badly wanted to pretend that it was all okay, and to find it in himself somewhere to forgive. It was like this whenever Sam messed up too – the anger was strong and persistent, but it was _nicer_ to just let it go. But he didn’t think he was quite ready for that just yet.

                After a long period of silence, Cas broke into Dean’s train of thought and beckoned him over. “Dean, look at this.”

                “What?” Dean gazed over Castel’s trench-coated shoulder and stared at some indecipherable Latin writing. “Do you know why he’s an angel now?”

                “Perhaps.” Cas pointed at a particular passage in the manuscript. “There is a reference here to a man being ‘blessed with the powers of Heaven’ after spending many years around angels.”

                “You think it was his time in the cage?”

                Cas nodded. “He had long term exposure to the graces of two archangels without any physical shielding. It is not too surprising that there have been certain aftereffects.”

                Dean grunted. “This is some hell of an aftereffect.”

                That was when they heard Sam calling from the next room and went in to explain the situation.

***

                “When to start?”

                Dean and Cas exchanged a glance – Cas looking to Dean for permission and Dean wary but resigned. Dean was the one to speak. “If you’re feeling up to it, it’s probably best to start before you break anything else.” Sam smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood, however weak it may have been, before Dean continued. “But first, I want to talk to Sam alone.” He sent a pointed look at Cas, and the angel flew away in the sound of fluttering wings. Sam wondered idly if he’d be able to do that now.

                He turned to Dean, unsure of where they stood or what to say. He was already feeling slightly guilty for the time he had spent in the Cage, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault. He still loved Dean, and in fact had spent much of his time in the Cage talking about Dean and how much he cared for him, but the little things had slipped away. He’d forgotten exactly what Dean looked like, and he couldn’t remember the nuances of how he spoke and smiled, and he was appalled at how much of the real world had slipped his mind.

                To his relief, Dean looked concerned but not upset. He sat down on the couch next to Sam. “You sure you’re okay?”

                Sam nodded. “Yes. But strange.” He remembered the way Dean and Cas had been acting around each other recently, and looked into his brother’s eyes. “You?”

                Dean shrugged. “You know me. I’ll manage.” He sighed. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with Cas teaching you stuff. I mean, I know we don’t have a choice and all, but the guy did just break your head and I get it if you aren’t comfortable around him or something, so –“

                “Dean,” Sam cut him off. “It is…” he paused, remembering that _contractions_ were a part of English (although not Enochian). “ _It’s_ fine. It’s been long. It feels distant.” And then, because he felt bad about the flare of hurt that flew into Dean’s eyes at the mention of distance, he tried to backtrack. “No, I mean… I feel time faded anger. It’s fine.” He laughed, weakly. “And we know I have-” he frowned. “ _I’ve_ done things too.” He swallowed. “I get it. I get him. I **empathize with his motivations.** ” He stopped, forcing himself back into English. “I understand why.”

                Dean nodded. “Yeah, yeah I guess I get it, too. It just hurts, you know? After everything, it shouldn’t even surprise me anymore, but I guess I thought that there was finally someone we could trust.” He shook himself and made to get up. “Well, I guess as long as you’re good with this, it’s for the best.” He grinned. “We gotta get you fitted for a halo now, Sammy?”

                Sam may not have completely remembered English, but he still managed to give Dean a suitably eloquent response, and his brother grinned before leaving the room. “Hey Cas, I guess he’s all yours now for angel training or whatever.”

                Cas appeared a moment after Dean left the room, and Sam was sure that the timing wasn’t accidental. He thought about saying something, but decided that he’d interfered with the two of them enough for one day. He turned his attention instead to the strangeness he was still experiencing – the weird crispness in everything, and the humming energy under his skin, and the slight ache running along his back. He looked at Cas, knowing that he should be practicing English but opting for Enochian instead anyway. **“So, where do we start?”**

                Cas examined him critically, eyes intent and head tilted just a touch to the side. The familiarity of the position was comforting. After a moment of consideration, he seemed to notice something. **“Sam, does your back hurt at all?”**

                **“Yes, a bit.”** Sam had been mostly ignoring it, since ignoring pain was something he’d gotten pretty adept at, being a Winchester. When he paid attention to it though, it was a bit irritating. **“Why?”**

**“I think you have wings coming in. They need to be preened.”**

                Sam realized that he probably should have come to that conclusion sooner, but all he could do was stare stupidly at the angel for a moment. **“I have wings?”**

                He wasn’t sure if Dean was going to be jealous or mercilessly teasing. He decided it would probably be both.


	4. Preening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the wingfic alluded to in the last chapter, as well as an excuse to clarify some plot points.

                Castiel watched as Sam’s face contorted into a mask of concentration and frustration before settling again as he stared resignedly up at him. **“I just cannot seem to do it.”**

                Cas was momentarily pleased to hear the familiar tones of Enochian, but reprimanded himself immediately. _I do not deserve that pleasure – or any other._ He refocused his attention. **“it just takes practice. Focus on the feeling along your back again.”** He paused, unsure of his other idea. **“If you want, I could perhaps offer some assistance.”**

                He could see hesitation in Sam’s face, but not the fear he had expected. **“Okay, this time. I do have to learn on my own eventually, though.”**

                Then there was a flicker of fear in his eyes, as though something had just occurred to him. **“Cas?”** he asked quietly. **“I know I still cannot control this stuff, and I have seen things happen to people…”** he bit his lip. **“How far does this go? I mean, how much angel is there in me? I do not want … I do not want to hurt Dean.”**

                Cas heard the unspoken question. **“I do not know if your physical form is technically a body or a vessel, but it has been yours long enough that I do not believe you will accidentally burn out your brother’s eyes – or anybody else’s.”** It was the right answer. Sam relaxed, and nodded at Cas.

                **“Okay. Let me try one more time. If I still cannot do it, you can help.”**

                He closed his eyes and Cas watched the trails of energy behind him start to condense and fold in on themselves as Sam tried to manifest his wings. He was experiencing a strange combination of emotions about the recent turn of events surrounding Sam Winchester. He felt relief that Sam had not been seriously harmed by Cas’ removal of the wall, surprise that Lucifer had chosen to protect the man, terrible guilt over everything he had done to both Winchesters, shock that Sam had turned into an angel, gratitude that he was being allowed to stay to help, and regret that they had to deal with him more after everything he’d done to them.

                It was more than an angel was ever supposed to feel, and he didn’t know how to cope with it.

                For now, he focused on Sam’s concentration as his newly grown wings started to form themselves properly. As he watched them transform from trails of energy and Grace into visible wings, he felt Dean’s presence approaching them. Dean reached the door just as Sam’s wings became fully visible, and announced his presence with several expletives muttered under his breath.

                “Whoa, Sammy. That’s _awesome_ , dude.”

                Sam looked up, surprise flickering on his face at his success before it shut down into pain and his hands shot to his ears. **“They are making noise there is too much why are they all talking make it stop make it stop _make them shut up!”_**

                Dean looked confused and worried, but Cas stopped his approach. He glared, but obeyed. Cas knelt down next to Sam. **“Sam, listen to my voice. Just listen to it.”** Sam looked up at him. **“Just focus on the sound of my voice and shut out the others. Just focus on this layer of sound.”**

                Sam squeezed his eyes shut, and after a few minutes he settled down, although he was still very pale. He saw Dean, and his face relaxed a little. “What… What was that?” he asked, his voice shaky. “Many voices, talking Enochian.” He frowned. “Angry. Worried. Scared.”

                Cas stood up, now that Sam seemed to be okay, and let Dean move forward a little into the room. He followed Sam’s lead and spoke in English for Dean’s benefit. “I believe you accidentally turned on “Angel Radio” and were unprepared to cope with it. It may have been triggered by manifesting your wings, or by shifting your attention to listen to your brother speak.”

                At that, Dean looked a little hesitant to speak again, but did so anyway (privately, Cas wasn’t sure if anything would actually keep Dean from speaking his mind. It was one of the most infuriating and admirable things about the human).

                “But you’re good now, right Sammy?” He grinned. “And I meant what I said. Awesome wings, man!”

                Sam smiled and nodded. “It is quiet again.” Then he tried to look at one of his wings. He twisted around, but accidentally twitched his wings out of the way at the same time, causing Dean and Cas to temporarily forget their grievances and share smiles of suppressed laughter. After a few more tries, he finally managed to stretch one of them out where he could see it and his mouth dropped open. “Whoa.”

                The manifested wings were badly in need of preening, with stray feathers sticking out where they shouldn’t be, and Cas imagined that it was probably rather uncomfortable. Still, he could understand their reactions to seeing Sam’s wings. Unlike Castiel’s own black wings, Sam’s were a deep purple, with layers of silver and red lining the tips. It was a unique colour combination that even Cas had to admit was impressive. He decided to let them have a few minutes to grin at each other and bond before he got back to work with Sam. It was nice to see them both happy for a change, and hadn’t he ruined their happiness enough already?

***

                Sam couldn’t believe that not only did have _wings_ , but he had _awesome looking_ wings. It more than made up for the cacophony of angry, frightened voices clamouring in Enochian in his head a few moments ago. He smirked at Dean, who was still staring at him with a transfixed expression. “Jealous?”

                Even Dean couldn’t come up with an insulting comeback. “Maybe a little,” he admitted. Then – and Sam knew this was to save face, but it did raise a valid question – “Isn’t that going to ruin your clothing?”

                Sam frowned, and tried to figure out if his shirt was ripped, and how he hadn’t noticed if it was. Castiel answered the question before he could strain his neck too badly. “Angel’s wings are only partially on the physical plane, so I would imagine Sam has instinctively manifested them around the fabric of his clothing.” He appeared to consider something. “For the sake of completion, it may be wise to remove your shirt and fully manifest them for the preening process.”

                Sam groaned. “I must do it over?” manifesting the wings wasn’t painful, but it had been difficult enough to do the once, and he didn’t want to have to do it all over again. Not to mention the possibility of accidentally turning on Angel Radio, or doing something worse – he was still more scared than he’d admit that something would happen to Dean, and it would be his fault. He’d already accidentally hurt Dean so much with everything from demon blood to soullessness, and he didn’t want this to add to it.

                Cas just nodded. “I apologize, but it is the wisest course of action.”

                Sam prepared to try to un-manifest the wings (however that was done), but turned to Dean first. “Hey, you needed anything?” He replayed the sentence in his head, realized how little sense he made, and tried again. “…Why did you come back?” He knew that, even once English grew easy for him again, he would probably always have an Enochian accent and slightly different phrasing, and the realization pissed him off to no end. All things considered, though, he supposed it could be worse. It just sucked that it was one more thing for everyone else to get used to.

                Dean shook his head. “Nope, just thought I’d check up on you and Cas. See how the whole angel-thing was going.” Sam knew that meant that he still didn’t quite trust Cas to be alone in a room with Sam, but said nothing. After he let Lucifer out, Dean had taken a while to trust him again, but he knew it would happen eventually. Besides, he was still a bit nervous around Cas himself, despite being much better than he figured he’d be if circumstances were different.

                After ten minutes of cursing in Enochian and focusing on his new appendages, he finally managed to un-manifest the wings, remove his shirt, and manifest them again. He turned to Cas, tired but a bit proud of himself for having done it. “Now?”

                Cas tilted his mouth into the barest hint of a smile. “Good. Now you must preen them, or they will be neither comfortable nor effective. Try to find and smooth out feathers which are twisted or bent, and remove them if necessary. I will help you.”

                Sam nodded and tried to reach out to touch his left wing. It took him a few tries, and he had to pause to give Dean the finger when he heard him smothering a laugh in the background. He did eventually get it though, and soon learned just how annoying and tedious “preening” was. He had to find all of the feathers which were causing discomfort and push them gently back into place. Some of them had to come out if they were beyond help, and _that_ hurt, although it felt better once it was done. Cas was helpful and gentle, his fingers searching out and finding spots that Sam hadn’t even realized were causing him discomfort. He smiled his thanks at the angel, and received a tentative – but hopeful – smile in return.

                Dean watched from the corner, and after a few minutes he cleared his throat to get their attention. Sam looked at him and raised an eyebrow in question.

                Dean looked a bit sheepish. “Hey, uh, I don’t suppose I could help at all?” He gestured to Sam’s wings. “ ‘Cause I feel a bit useless here and all, and another pair of hands can’t hurt, right?”

                Sam shrugged. “Sure. But … be careful.”

                Dean nodded his thanks, but looked at Cas for permission, too, as the expert on all things angelic. Sam thought he may have detected a hint of wary reconciliation in that questioning glance.

                Cas just nodded and looked quickly away, answering in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “It should be okay, as long as you’re careful. The wings are still tender.”

                Dean nodded, and the three of them set to work. As they worked, Sam’s mind started to think through everything that had happened and threw out a ton of questions he’d never really thought to ask about angels and their wings until it became relevant to him and his life.

                “Do you need…?” He paused to gestured at the three of them, combing through his feathers.( _he had feathers!_ )

                Cas nodded. “I need to preen periodically, yes. I usually need to preen about once every two weeks, but you may need to preen more frequently, being younger.”

                Sam nodded, thinking. “Why are they … real? You made shadows.” He remembered Dean telling him, with a mixture of awe, confusion, and trepidation, about Cas showing him the shadows of wings stretching across the barn at their first meeting. These were most _definitely_ not shadows.

                Sam worried that his questions were going to bother Cas, but he seemed unruffled (Sam let himself smile at his own pun) as he answered the question. “Wings are easier to preen and adjust on the physical plane, so it makes sense to manifest them. Some angels do like to manifest their wings frequently, but you generally need to be comfortable in your vessel to do so. When I encountered Dean at the barn, I had never been in a vessel before and had only recently obtained the one I had, so all I could manage were shadows.”

                This time it was Dean who piped up. “Wait, so does Sam have a vessel now? Can he just go out and possess some dude?”

                ”Dean!” Sam hissed, affronted at the mere idea of possessing someone. He’d had enough experience with possession after Meg and Lucifer, and didn’t want to have anything else to do with either end of possession unless it was absolutely necessary. He still wasn’t entirely sure what to think of Castiel using Jimmy Novak as a vessel, except that technically there had been consent and after all the times Cas had died, he was pretty sure Jimmy had moved on.

                Cas looked mildly offended, as he always did when the subject of vessels was broached. “Given the circumstances, I think it is safe to assume that Sam is his own vessel, and that his true form is the same as his physical form.” He paused. “I do not know if he would be able to take a different vessel.”

                Now that he’d started, Dean didn’t seem to be able to suppress the flood of questions. “Hey, why doesn’t Sam have the angelic encyclopedia in him, or whatever? His English is no better than it was before you screwed with his head.” He winced at that, and Sam was relieved that he was at least not _trying_ to be pain to Cas (although he was probably succeeding anyway), and continued. “And does this mean he has to be killed by an angel blade? Will he still age?” He was getting more and more worked up. Suddenly his eyes grew wide and panicked. “Can he read my mind now?” He swore loudly and turned to look Sam in the eyes. “Can you read my mind?”

                Sam burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. Dean and Cas had to back away from him for a moment so he didn’t smack them with his wings. “Dean! Calm. Calm yourself.” He grinned. “I read you already, but not with angel-Grace. Not yet.” He finally stilled enough for the others to come back, and they resumed the preening as Cas answered the questions (since Sam had to admit that Dean had raised some valid points, however ridiculous he may have looked).

                “Dean,” Cas started, “You must realize that this has never happened before. I do not know all the answers. I believe, however, that the ‘angel encyclopedia’, as you call it, has more to do with the instincts and orders embedded within angels upon their creation than with their Grace. Since Sam became an angel by acquiring Grace rather than being created, I do not believe he has any of those instincts.” He looked perturbed by the thought of other angels, and drifted off for a moment into his own thoughts until Dean elbowed him.

                “Hey, you still there?” Dean’s voice held more concern than irritation.

                “Yes.” Cas’ voice was softer now. “I believe it is fortunate that Sam does not have the same instincts that angels do. Our instincts do not contain free will or strong emotion – we must put effort into learning what you humans are born with. Sam still has those qualities.” His eyes went distant again for a moment before abruptly sharpening, as though he had mentally kicked himself. “As to your other questions, I expect that Sam will neither age nor die naturally, and his mental abilities will probably kick in suddenly at inopportune moments until he learns to control them.”

                Sam didn’t think he had intended to be funny, but he bit back a laugh anyway. That was exactly how he was anticipating it would work. Actually, he was surprised that they hadn’t already caused trouble. “Cas, why no …?” He gave up. **“Why have my abilities not already done that? Kicked into gear at the wrong moments, I mean.”** He switched back to English. “You helping?”

                Cas nodded. “Yes, I am attempting to help you restrain your Grace for the time being. I thought it would be for the best until I can show you how to control your abilities.” He frowned slightly; it was only half an expression, but somehow it conveyed his anxiety perfectly. “I hope you don’t mind. I apologize for not asking consent, but I was … preoccupied.”

                Sam reached out and placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “It’s okay.”

                Dean, who was sitting beside Cas and working on Sam’s right wing, smiled, and Sam thought that maybe this whole ridiculous situation was exactly what they needed because Dean was actually looking more relaxed than he’d been in a while. “Yeah, thanks Cas. For helping.”

                Cas smiled back at them both, and Sam let himself relax into the feeling of loving hands brushing through his wings.

                It was a bit more than an hour before they were done, and striped purple feathers littered the living room. They stood up, and Sam was just preparing to un-manifest his wings when they were interrupted by Bobby’s flabbergasted voice.

                “What the _h_ _ell_ have you idjits gone and gotten yourselves into now?”


	5. Angel-Vision, and Other Things

                “Okay, is anyone going to explain to me just _what_ is going on?” Bobby asked once they were all settled at the table. Sam had his shirt back on and his wings were no longer visible, but Bobby wasn’t willing to wait any longer for some sort of explanation. When he’d returned from his trip to find Sam standing in the living room with massive purple bird wings, his first reaction was to throw holy water and salt at the kid and then slash him with a silver knife. Actually, that’s pretty much what he’d done, but Sam seemed to be himself. But with wings. He glared meaningfully at the boys sitting in front of him, hoping that they’d stop looking uncomfortably at each other and get around to explaining something. “Look, I don’t care which one of ya talks, but someone’s gotta.” Actually, he figured the angel would talk too much, and since it was about Sam he might waste time with apologies or something, so he pointed at Dean and said “You, talk.”

                Dean cleared his throat. “So, um, you were there when Sammy did the whole glowing thing and fainted, right? Well, turns out he, uh, absorbed some Grace from Michael and Lucifer in the pit and now he’s all angel-fied on us.” He smiled awkwardly. “And, apparently, the buggers actually have _wings.”_

                Bobby grunted. That took care of the basics – and as unbelievable as they were, he couldn’t say he was actually all that surprised, considering what these boys tended to get themselves into. Now he turned to Cas, figuring the angel would say anything Dean hadn’t bothered to say or wanted Bobby to know. “Have you got anything to add?”

                Cas considered the question. “I believe Dean has covered the essentials. I am currently suppressing most of Sam’s Grace to prevent him from accidentally causing any damage until I can teach him to control it.”

                Bobby nodded. “Well, if you boys need to stick in one place for a while, you can stay here while you figure all this out.” He phrased it as an offer, but in truth he didn’t think much could have convinced him to let them leave for a good while.

                Still, he had to keep up his image, so he scowled at them as he stood up. “Just don’t let either of them blow anything up without asking permission first.”

                After Sam and Cas left to go practice flying or not blowing things up or some other equally useful task, Bobby turned to Dean. “I’ve got to do some research for Garth for a case he’s working. I don’t suppose you’d lend a hand?”

                Dean glanced at the door, then turned back to him. “You know I would, Bobby, but don’t you think someone should keep an eye on those two in case-“

                “In case of what?” Bobby cut him off. “I know you don’t really trust him yet – hell, I’m not sure if _I_ trust him yet – but in case you haven’t noticed, we need him, and after what he did I’m willing to bet that Heaven isn’t too thrilled about him at the moment, so where else is he gonna go?”

                “Yeah, I guess.” Dean sighed. “But after everything, I just don’t know if I can trust him again. Look at what he did!”

                “He was trying to do the right thing.” Bobby didn’t know why he was defending the angel, but he thought it may have had something to do with the way Dean’s face looked whenever someone mentioned him. It was the same way he looked whenever Sam did something Dean wasn’t sure he could forgive (Bobby noticed that, despite assertions to the contrary, he always _was_ able to forgive, eventually). “You two ain't exactly crystal clean either, you know.”

                “Yeah, I know,” Dean said softly. “But how do I trust him again?”

                “Well,” Bobby said. “You can start by letting him and Sam do their thing and helping me out with this research, ya idjit.”

                Dean nodded and, with another reluctant glance at the door Sam and Cas had used, headed to the study. “So, what is it we’re looking for?”

***

                Sam followed Cas out of Bobby’s house and into the junkyard. Despite the feeling that things were a little _different_ somehow, everything seemed to look and feel relatively normal. He thought that was mostly due to Cas’ influence. At least his back didn’t hurt anymore. Once they were a ways away from the house, he turned to Cas. **“So, what now?”**

                Cas looked at him contemplatively, head tilted just a touch to the side. “Sam,” he said gently, “Perhaps it is best if you try to speak in English, so you become more comfortable with the language again.”

                Sam frowned, but nodded. Cas was right. He’d spoken in Enochian on reflex, but if he was going to be able to speak comfortably with Dean again, he’d better start remembering more English. “Yes, sorry.” He repeated his earlier question. “What now?”

                “It seems best for me to teach you how to control your Grace, so that I can lift the restraining influence I have placed on it.” Cas still looked apologetic when he mentioned that, and his face grew carefully still. “Sam,” he began. “I want you to know just how sorry I am for everything I’ve done to you and your brother. I should never have let it go that far.”

                Sam nodded, accepting the apology. He could have cut it off at the start, but he figured it would help Cas to get it out. “You were wrong, but … so was I, once.” He shrugged. “It is well. I forgive you.”

                He thought it would do Cas good to hear it from somebody, now that the whole thing was over and dealt with. He knew from experience how much stuff like this hurt _everybody_ involved. Including Dean, who he’d have thought would have followed them out here by now. _Bobby must be keeping him busy._

                Cas smiled, soft and tentative, before getting back to the matter at hand. “I am going to lift the restraint a little. Try to feel the Grace inside of you as I do so.”

                “How?”

                Cas was silent for a long time as he considered the question. “Focus on your essence. There will be a sense of power and movement and fire. It is the Grace.”

                Sam had no idea what his ‘essence’ felt like, but he hoped it was the sort of thing a person figured out instinctively. He nodded to Cas, and then closed his eyes and tried to feel if anything was different.

                It was.

                He could feel something in him, like Cas had said. He had always liked words, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to describe this in English (Enochian had set words for it, he knew, and now he understood them) but he thought that Cas had done a decent job with ‘power and movement and fire’. It was more than just that, though. He could feel it stretching out tentatively into the world around him, and it was as though a new pair of eyes was opening.

                He could feel Cas standing next to him, and his Grace – worn from the Leviathans, and from guilt and sorrow, but still strong enough to keep his in check. He could feel the house, with Dean and Bobby (he edged away from that, minding Bobby’s admonition to not break anything). He could feel all of the wrecked cars in the junkyard, and the plants and stuff growing around them. Coming back to himself, he tried to restrain the Grace a little, and opened his eyes.

                Nothing made sense. There were colours and _Not-Colours_ and too many details everywhere, and he couldn’t understand any of it. He slammed his eyes shut again and let out a strangled cry. “What…?”

                He could feel Cas’ Grace trying to calm him down. It was like a gentle touch; a reassuring hand placed on his shoulder. “You need to narrow your focus. Try to see only what you’re used to, so your mind can process it. Think of the level of detail and colour that you usually see, and try again.”

                Sam did, and this time when he opened his eyes he saw the world as he usually did. He blinked a few times, just to be certain that everything would stay the way it was supposed to. It did. Cas smiled – he was doing that rather a lot recently, which Sam thought was sort of nice. Cas didn’t smile all that much when he and Dean were fighting, and Sam liked to see the little half-tilt which passed as a smile for the angel.

                “Do you want to try to see more?”

                Sam nodded. He always did end up being the curious one. Despite his many attempts to leave the hunting lifestyle, he had privately thought that he’d never stop enjoying the research – learning about the creatures that they were hunting, and reading the lore on how they had come to be and how they would cease to be had always been the most interesting part of the case for him. How could he resist the urge to experiment now?

                He turned his attention back to Cas, who was giving him more instructions. “Try to pick a level of vision and layer it over your current one. Just think about it, and find it with your Grace, and pull it into your field of awareness.”

                He expanded his Grace again, trying to _reach_ out and feel the rest of the world (but in a limited space, because he was curious, but also a bit paranoid because he always managed to break something when he tried to explore). There seemed to be energy everywhere, and he couldn’t really tell what was what. He didn’t know what was metaphysical energy, what was sound, or heat, or electricity, and what was actually in the spectrum of light. There was a very strong type of energy coming from Cas, though, tied in with his Grace, and it stood out from the rest of the energy like a mountain rising from a field of grass. He stretched out towards it with the Grace (his Grace) and _pulled_ , gasping as the world flickered into a different sort of view.

                Cas was awesome looking. He knew that was Dean’s word (And good for him, remembering English words and associating them with things and people and stuff), but it really was an appropriate description. Actually, it was probably a bit understated.

                He could still see Jimmy Novak, the vessel – the man in a suit and trench coat staring at him with an inscrutable expression – but he could also see Castiel. He could see light and energy and Grace, and he could see something (someone) massive and unfathomable and yet somehow still managing to fit roughly inside the body of one tiny human. It was as though he could see _into_ Jimmy, and inside Jimmy was Cas, and Cas was so much bigger than Jimmy was but it didn’t matter because physics was apparently much more complicated than what he remembered. He allowed himself a small moment to ponder the potential for Doctor Who references before he noticed the wings.

                He’d caught a glimpse of his own wings earlier, during the preening session, but he’d never actually seen them completely. Not like this. Castiel’s wings were folded behind him carefully, like his own were, but more poised somehow, and more purposeful, He could see them on two layers, although he didn’t remember having pulled any more in. There were the black bird wings, with a strange combination of matte and shining feathers which left his eyes a bit dizzy, despite his new vision. This, he knew, was how Dean and Bobby would see Cas’ wings if he ever manifested them. But in addition to those, he saw the way Cas’ Grace formed the wings. He saw the bright folds of energy and emotion that went into them. He saw varying tones of guilt and sorrow and regret, but he also saw hope and compassion and something else he couldn’t identify completely, but which he thought might resemble love. And then, suddenly, they vanished and he could see only Cas’ unmanifested bird wings, along with the rest of his True Form. He blinked, forcing his vision back into the normal spectrum alone.

                “It is gone,” he said, slightly confused and more than slightly wistful.

                “Yes.” Cas nodded. “As you may have noticed, much can be read from the energy of an angel’s wings. The Grace-wings are a slightly different layer than the rest of my form, and can be cloaked far more easily than any other part of our forms.” Sam couldn’t help but startle slightly at the use of the word ‘our’ in that sentence, reminding himself that they were now apparently sort of the same species. Cas, appearing not to notice his reaction, continued without pause. “I allowed you to see mine, to show you what they look like, but then cloaked them. Virtually all angels you will encounter have their Grace-wings cloaked at all times.”

                Sam took in the implications of that sentence. First: he’d seen into Cas’ mind, which was probably a massive breach of privacy. Second: his read of Cas’ emotional state was surprisingly close to what he’d figured when he forgave him, so he was apparently not as bad a judge of character as he thought he was. Third: was he accidentally broadcasting _his_ emotional state to everyone with angel-vision now?

                “Do I have…?” He would seriously have to learn to finish his sentences more frequently again, but if he could get away with half a sentence of English instead of a full one, he was going to take the opportunity.

                Cas nodded again, “Yes.” He caught Sam’s flash of panic (probably from the aforementioned mind-broadcasting wings) and spoke again. “I will teach you how to hide them.”

                Sam nodded gratefully. He was more overtly emotional than his brother, but the last thing they needed was for every angel or otherwise perceptive creature to be able to read his emotional state at a glance. At least the only person so far who’d probably seen it was Cas, and he didn’t really have much of a problem with that. He’d seen Cas’ Grace-wings, so he figured it was only fair that Cas had probably seen his, too. It wasn’t as though Cas (and Dean, and Bobby) couldn’t read him at a glance even without wings, anyway.

 


	6. Reading and Speaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it wouldn't be Supernatural without a sibling heart to heart, so here you go. Also, Cas talks with Bobby (because that never happens in Canon and I thought it should) and I make a (very) subtle reference to "The French Mistake". Very subtle. Cas comes to a decision.

                The next morning, Sam was sitting in Bobby’s living room reading. Apparently, he didn’t need to sleep anymore, since he had Grace now and angels didn’t need to sleep. He wasn’t really sure how he felt about that – on the one hand, it was extremely useful. He and Castiel had been practicing more throughout the night, and he now had fairly decent control over his ‘upgraded’ senses. He still hadn’t really learned to fly or move things, but he had enough control that Cas had stopped restraining his Grace. On the other hand, not needing to (or being able to) sleep reminded him uncomfortably of the time he’d spent without a soul.

                But, good or bad, he hadn’t slept. Once Cas had confirmed that he had enough control to be fairly safe, he’d decided to spend some time focusing on the other major issue at hand. Heading into the house (quietly, so as to not wake anyone), he’d gone straight to the study and tried to pick out a book to read – in English.

                The Cage didn’t have much in the way of reading material other than what they wrote themselves. He'd learned to read and write in Enochian, and had done so frequently, but hadn't done much with English for the majority of his stay. He was starting to regret letting them speak to him in Enochian alone for all those years, but at the time it had seemed like a good idea. It was something new to learn and practice to pass the time, and he had been certain that he was never getting out. He’d figured that opening the Cage to free him was something even Dean wouldn’t be able to do. He smiled softly to himself. He should have known Dean would think of something – he always did.

                As he scanned the titles on the shelves, he decided against anything lore-related. Stories of the various creatures and demons and rituals were among Michael and Lucifer’s favourites, since it generally gave them a chance to mention themselves and do some bragging. They never did seem to get tired of bragging, and by now Sam figured he knew enough about lore to last him a lifetime. Today, he wanted to read something else, just to read. Most of the books in Bobby’s collection were hunting-related, of course, but he knew the man had to have _some_ books that were just for enjoyment. After at least twenty minutes of looking, he found what he was looking for. The bottom two shelves of one unit in the back of the room had a collection of fiction stories which _weren’t_ relevant to anything they hunted. He smiled, and picked out a worn copy of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”.

                Heading back to the living room, he settled on the edge of the couch, back against the armrest and legs stretched along the length. He’d learned that it was more comfortable to keep his wings mostly materialized, rather than hidden as Cas did. He and Cas thought this was probably because he was more used to physical form and reality. Whatever the reason, he’d decided that as long as he was the only one around, he may as well let them take semi-physical form. It relieved him of the strange tickling pressure around his back which he felt whenever he forced the wings to hide themselves.

                Once he’d settled in on the couch, he set about reading. He’d been worried at first, since in his mind it had been centuries since he’d last seen a word of written English, but thankfully he still seemed to remember how it went. It took him longer than he would have liked, of course, and like his spoken English there were still many words, tenses, or phrases which he’d forgotten, but he figured that it was better to deal with it now (with Google) than later (with Dean). Soon, he lost himself in the comforting rhythm of the reading, broken by periodic Google searches.

                Science fiction had always been one of his favourite genres. Fantasy books were too similar to the lore he had to study, and books which took place in the “real world” reminded him too much of how hard it was to really leave the Life. Science fiction, though, was a way to really escape. He’d read this book before, though he couldn’t remember exactly when. The comfort was the same both times – a way to temporarily escape both from the life he lead and from the life he couldn’t lead.

                His concentration was broken when Dean entered the room, coffee in hand. Sam started. He’d been so caught up in what he was doing that he hadn’t heard or otherwise felt Dean’s presence. He smiled at Dean. “Morning.”

                “Yeah.” Dean grunted, not fully awake. There was a moment of silence as he sat down on one of the chairs in the room, and then he finally seemed to look at Sam and remember the events of the preceding day. “So, how are you feeling this morning?” He glanced at a point just behind Sam, who belatedly realized that his wings were still manifested.

                “Sorry.” He gestured at the wings. “Do you mind? More comfortable this way.”

                He was afraid that they would just be another reminder of everything that had happened – everything that had _changed_ , and didn’t want Dean to be hurt any more than he already was. Dean, however, just shrugged and grinned. “Be my guest. At least something awesome came out of this whole mess.”

                Sam nodded, grateful. “Thanks, Dean.” He paused, hoping that Dean would actually answer his next question truthfully. “How are you?”

                Instead of responding, Dean paused, cleared his throat, and deflected the question. “You sound a bit better today. English starting to come back?”

 _Typical_ , Sam thought. He knew he could probably figure out how to sense Dean’s emotions, but he didn’t want to. He wanted Dean to tell him how he was feeling; he wasn’t willing to break into Dean’s mind and spy on him.

Nevertheless, at least they were talking. He waved his book at Dean. “Reading helps. I still need to look stuff up.”

“Oh.” Dean shifted in his seat. “So, how much do you remember?” His voice grew quieter. “Of … things from before?”

So _that’s_ what was bothering him. Sam made a point of looking Dean straight in the eyes, wings unconsciously spreading a little as he did so. “Dean, relax. I still remember you. In the Cage, we told ... stories. To … pass the time.” He closed his eyes briefly, remembering. “I remembered you.”

Dean looked down, hands gripping his coffee. “Oh.” There was a long moment. “It’s just, the Enochian, and the unfamiliarity with the house-“ He looked up to meet Sam’s startled gaze. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. You pause every time you have to go somewhere, like you almost don’t remember the way.” He looked down again, avoiding eye contact like Sam still remembered he did when there were _feelings_ involved. “And you were gone for _centuries_ , man. I mean, I guess you still remember me, but I just wasn’t sure if you still _remembered_ me.”

                “Dean, look at me.” Sam waited until he had his brother’s full attention once again. “You are my brother. I was in the Cage with the … most messed up … pair of brothers in history. I remembered you. Always.” He smiled as he saw some of the tension melt away from Dean’s face. “They speak – spoke – Enochian, so I do. Did. Geography was … irrelevant. You were not. I remember not everything, but I remember you.”

                He knew Dean hated these types of discussions, but he also knew that this must really have been bothering his brother if he was willing to bring it up so readily. That was a mixed blessing, he knew, but he’d take what he could get. At least now, he hoped, it had been dealt with. He cleared his throat. “Are we okay?”

                Dean nodded, a smile creeping back onto his face. “Yeah, Sammy, we’re okay.” He cleared his throat. “And, uh … thanks. You know, for remembering.”

                He drained his coffee mug and headed back to the kitchen, presumably to escape from any residue of emotions hanging over the living room. Sam turned the book back to his face, wings spread slightly in what he figured was the equivalent of a smile.

***

                Bobby sighed as the angel sitting across from him frowned at the old lorebook. He’d told the three of them that if they were going to be sticking around, at least one of them should be helping him out. Since Dean had taken the hit yesterday, this time it was Castiel who was attempting to help him.

                “There are some inaccuracies in this book. I can correct them for you, if you wish.”

                Bobby considered it. “Yeah, sure, knock yourself out.” At least this way he might get the angel to stop trying to organize his study. It was a mess, but he _did_ have a system, and he’d already had to snap at both Sam and Cas to keep them from trying to impose recognizable order on it.

                He turned back to his own lorebook – a massive Latin tome on undines for a case a friend was working out west. Things went fairly smoothly from there, with Cas correcting his books instead of moving them about, and after a few hours he got the necessary info.

                “I’m gonna break for a few minutes. Do you want anything?” He asked the angel as he headed into the kitchen.

                “I do not require sustenance.” Cas didn’t look up from the manuscript.

                Bobby returned with ‘sustenance’ for himself and gave the angel a dubious look. “I know that, idjit, but that’s not an answer. Sam still eats and stuff, don’t he?”

                He and Dean had both been wondering on that front, actually, but Sam had eaten with them that morning at breakfast, despite probably not needing to. No one had brought it up, and Bobby thought the kid was probably trying to pretend that at least _something_ was still the way it usually was, even if it really wasn’t.

                “So, Cas,” Bobby waited until the angel fixed his attention on him before continuing. “Once you lot are done hangin’ around my place, what are you planning to do?” He knew the question had to be asked, and he figured that now was as good a time as any to talk with the angel – especially without the boys around.

                “I don’t know. The things I did, the massacre in Heaven…” Cas’ eyes looked haunted and old and full of pain. “I need to seek redemption, but I don’t know if I can return.”

                Bobby considered the angel. After everything that had gone down, he’d been fairly upset with him for what he’d done, but he was starting to rethink his feelings. He recognized the expression in the other man’s eyes: it was the same expression Sam had worn after the whole apocalypse fiasco a few years ago. It was genuine regret, the kind that meant rubbing things in would never really compare to what was already there.

                “Well,” he started, “I don’t know much about redemption, but I hope you find what you’re looking for. But wherever you wind up goin’, don’t you leave Sam and Dean in the dark this time.”

                Cas nodded seriously. “I will try to keep them informed, as long as they wish to remain in contact with me.”

                Bobby caught the note of uncertainty in his voice. “’As long as they wish to be?’ Haven’t you figured it out yet? Those two idiots are always gonna want you around, Cas.” He shot a quick glare at the angel. “Yes, even Dean, though he likes to pretend otherwise. He does that with Sam, too – it’s just how he copes with stuff. He’s coming round, and Sam already has, so you need to make sure you don’t skip out on them after this.”

                He’d used the same tone of voice he generally reserved for telling off either of the boys, and it was only after speaking that he realized how ridiculous the whole situation was. _I’m trying to lecture a being centuries older than me._ Of course, that being came from a family which was more messed up than even his own had been, so he supposed it was all a matter of perspective.

                “Now,” he grunted, “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with that book you’ve been poking at?”

***

                Cas sought out Dean that evening and found him, as expected, working on the Impala. Sam and Dean had spent much of the day together, reading and watching old movies and generally catching up. Sam had been working on his English, of course, but he’d taught Dean some words in Enochian too – Dean had a horrible accent, but he was trying. Now, however, he was alone.

                Cas approached him tentatively, making sure that his footsteps could be heard as he crossed the gravel. He knew Dean hated it when people snuck up on him. “Dean?”

                Dean turned, tensing up as he recognized him. “Cas.”

                “I wish to speak with you.”

                “Well, here we are.” Dean leant against the hood of his car and regarded Cas. “What is it?”

                “I need to apologize to you for my … betrayal.” The word felt bitter in his mouth. “I know you have no reason to forgive me, but I am sorry. I understand if you want me to avoid you after this, and I will be happy to do so.” He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but felt the offer needed to be made nonetheless. He wouldn’t want Dean to think he was being pressured into interacting with him. “However, I felt you should know that I do not intend to avoid Sam, as he requires my assistance and seems to appreciate my company.” Cas was still surprised that, after everything, Sam had found it in himself to not bear a grudge, but he was immensely grateful for the forgiveness (even if he didn’t deserve it).

                Dean’s face did not hold forgiveness, but it didn’t hold anger, either. There was still resentment in his features, but there was a glimmer of something softer there, too. “Cas, you don’t need to avoid me. I won’t pretend I’m not still a bit pissed at you, but staying away is what caused this whole mess in the first place.” He ran a hand over his face. “You’ve got to promise to keep me in the loop, man. I can’t trust you if I don’t know what you’re doing.”

                “Thank you.” Cas saw the way Dean’s anger was starting to fade, and for the first time he thought that maybe their friendship wasn’t completely destroyed. He was glad. Dean was a good friend, and not one he wanted to lose.

                He felt Sam’s approach a few seconds before Dean heard him coming, but they both turned to greet him. Cas was glad of his presence; if he was to keep them ‘in the loop’, it made more sense for them both to hear his plans at the same time.

                “I plan to return to Heaven in a few days.”

                They both looked at him – Dean in surprise, Sam in understanding. Dean was the first to speak.

                “Are you sure? I mean, the halo squad can’t be thrilled with you right now.”

                “I’m sure.” Cas had thought this over carefully, and although he didn’t know if he could handle going back, he knew he had to. He didn’t expect them to be pleased, and he didn’t know what to expect, but after everything he’d done he didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if he didn’t return to face his actions. “I need to do this.”

                Sam nodded. “Do what you must.” Cas thought Sam probably understood his motivations more than the rest of them. He could still remember their discussion about putting Lucifer back in the Cage, and Sam’s certainty that it was his duty. _‘I let him out; I have to put him back in’_. Cas couldn’t undo or fix what he’d done, but this was the closest thing he could think of.

                “I will wait until you have learned what you can with me, of course.” Cas didn’t want them to think he was abandoning them. Sam still needed to be taught, so he would stay. “You shouldn’t need many more nights of training.”

                They had agreed that it was best to train at night, since everyone but them would be asleep. There were things they could do with Dean and Bobby during the day, but the nights were theirs to practice. He caught Sam’s relieved eyes and smiled at him, pleased to see a matching smile in return.

                Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, speaking of training, I guess I’d better let you guys get to it. It’s getting late now, anyway.” He turned to Cas, and there was an openness in his face that hadn’t been there in a while. “Good night, Cas, Sam.”

                He went back in the house, leaving them there to begin their lessons for the evening. They watched him go, enjoying a few moments of silence as the world grew dark.


	7. Feelings and Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More heart-to-hearts and flying lessons. This is where the Sam/Cas becomes a bit more obvious, I think.

                The evening had faded definitively into night by the time they broke out of their reveries and started to work. Sam had spent most of the previous night and that day practicing with his new senses, and thought he had them mostly under control. He generally tried to stick with what was in the normal range for a human, partially to seem more normal and partially because it was what he was used to. Every once in a while, though, he let himself know more. While he and Cas had been enjoying the transition from evening to night, for example, he’d let himself _see_ the infinitesimal changes in light and _hear_ the way the world slowly drew in on itself and expanded into silence. He liked that, he thought.

                Now, though, they were going to focus on something different. “You should learn to control your mental abilities,” Cas said thoughtfully. “It will prevent you from accidentally using them when you do not intend to.”

                Sam nodded in agreement. “Mental abilities. **Telepathy? Telekinesis?** I feel Dean sometimes, but no words.”

                “Yes.” Cas _reached_ out to him with his Grace, and he could suddenly feel the other angel’s presence in his mind as he spoke to him through his thoughts. _‘You are capable of speaking or hearing directly with the mind, but I have learned that many humans resent such contact.”_

                His presence withdrew, and he spoke aloud once again. “I apologize for not asking permission, but I assure you that I spoke only, and refrained from reading your thoughts.”

                Sam nodded. He usually tried to keep things to himself, but it wasn’t like he had any big secrets right now or anything (and really, whenever he did have secrets things started to turn dark pretty fast). “It is well. How do we start?”

                “Reach out to me with your Grace and sense my presence. I am capable of blocking your access to my mind, but I will not do so. You need to learn how to sense that I am here.”

                Sam tried to feel the Grace inside him. It was strange, since he’d never really been able to feel his soul – although he had sort of noticed when he didn’t have one – but the Grace was very obvious. A soul alone was subtle and easy to ignore, but the Grace-augmented-soul inside him now reacted to things and felt almost like another limb. He drew his attention to it and tried to expand his perception toward Cas. It wasn’t long before he started to feel his presence and his mind.

                He didn’t really want to read Cas’ mind – he respected his privacy, after all – so instead he tried to transmit a thought to him. **_‘Can you hear me?’_**

                Cas nodded. _‘Yes, I can hear you. Good job.’_

                With the telepathy figured out, telekinesis was actually fairly straightforward. The techniques were surprisingly similar: reach out with Grace, feel the object, and _push_. It was less than an hour before Cas deemed his skills satisfactory.

                They took a short break, still outside in the junkyard, since neither of them was bothered by the cold and they both enjoyed the night air. Sam still had his wings manifested, since he found it more comfortable, but the strangeness of it all still made him feel slightly nervous. He hadn’t really been bothering to hide his emotions from Cas, so when the angel manifested his own wings Sam knew why. He flushed with appreciation for the gesture, and smiled as he felt a returning glow of emotion from Cas. Empathy, unlike telepathy, was difficult to refrain from and generally less invasive, so they had mutually agreed to not bother masking their emotional states.

 They watched the sky in silence for a few moments before Cas spoke up, and Sam could feel the nervousness in his voice. “Sam, do you remember when you first contacted me after being given your soul back?”

                Sam nodded. It was a pretty clear memory for him, given that Cas had been the one to tell him how he’d been without a soul for a while. “Yes, I do. Why?”

                Cas frowned, blue eyes squinting just a little as he looked over at Sam. “You were … hesitant around me. I know you had every right to be, considering what I’ve done, but you didn’t know any of that then. Had I offended you in some way?”

                He blinked. “No, Cas, you had not offended me.” He thought back to the moment in question – Cas’ half-inclination to hug, his own hesitation, and the ensuing awkwardness. He winced internally at the memory. “I just never thought you would be so pleased to see me. I thought you **tolerated me because of Dean.”** The memory had distracted him back into Enochian, but it was just him and Cas now, so he didn’t bother to correct it.

                Cas responded in kind, with a perturbed undercurrent in his typically monotone voice. **“Why would you think I was not pleased to see you? I was the one who pulled you out-”** he faltered, guilty, **“- _tried_ to pull you out- in the first place.”**

                **“Yes, but that was to please Dean, because he missed me. Or because I was connected with Dean. I…”** He tried to think of the right way to put it, this feeling that he shouldn’t be interacting with Cas because he just wasn’t _right_ , and even after everything he’d done the angel _was_. **“You are pure. I am not. Remember when we first met?”**

                Cas nodded slowly, eyes softening into the distance as he relived his initially distant and hesitant manner towards ‘the Boy with the Demon Blood’. **“I did not know you then. I knew what you were, but not who you were.”** His voice softened. **“Sam, _who_ you are is more important. We have, all of us, done things to leave us tainted, but you have been and yet remain pure, somehow.”** Sam saw his wings arching toward him in something that looked like compassion but which felt suspiciously like awe, too. **“You never stop trying to be good, and you never stop hoping, not completely. I was wrong to judge you by your blood alone.”**

                Sam smiled, feeling his own wings bending against his will as they returned Cas’ gesture. **“Thank you. I should not have assumed to know you, either.”** He watched the near-invisible trails of light left by fireflies as they traced their way through the dark air. **“I think we both try. To be good.”** After a moment’s reflection, he added, **“I guess that has to be enough.”**

Cas nodded. The air was still for a few moments more before Sam cleared his throat, trying to force himself back into English again, just for the sake of practice. “And Cas?”

                “Yes, Sam?”

                “If it means anything, you are redeemed to me.”

                “That means a lot.” Castiel’s voice was softer than usual as he spoke, though Sam’s enhanced hearing could still pick it up. “Thank you.”

                “Cas?” Sam voiced a question that had been plaguing him for a while now. “What does this make me? I know I have an angel’s Grace now, but I still have demon blood in me too, right? And the core is essentially a human soul. What am I?” He hadn’t asked around Dean, not wanting to remind his brother of anything that could push them apart, but he felt safe around Castiel.

                Cas smiled softly as he gave his answer, more certain in his words than Sam had expected him to be. “You are what you have always been, and what I have tried to become. You are a creature of your own will.”

                Sam couldn’t help his huff of incredulity. “Free will? With destiny constantly at our throats?” Still, he thought Cas had a point, so he relented. “I suppose we are.”

                At some point over the course of their conversation they had ended up sitting side by side on the wreck of an old car, with their hands mingled together as they talked, and their wings just brushing. They remained like that for a time, enjoying the presence of each other’s Grace. The silence was broken some time later when Sam started to fidget and accidentally swatted Cas with his wing. Cas smiled at him, amused.

                “I suppose it’s time I teach you to fly.”

***

                Castiel liked to tell himself that he didn’t procrastinate. He had been created to do his duty and obey orders, and he had been created to obey immediately and without hesitation. Still, he couldn’t deny that there was a part of him which wanted to push away this moment.

                He had to teach Sam Winchester flight.

                Had Sam been created as an angel, it would not have been an issue. He would have been Grace only, and he could have learned the skill before he took a vessel. Sam’s Grace, however, was more firmly anchored to his body than a normal angel’s would have been, and he’d have to learn to fly in his vessel.

                Cas eyed Sam, who was eager and a bit nervous at the coming lesson. He tried to explain the process to him, wanting him to be careful but not afraid. “Flying for angels is not like it is for birds or insects. You do not propel your body through the air with your wings. Instead, you are using the Grace of your wings to reach through the fabric of space-time and forming them into a channel for the rest of your energy and molecules.” He frowned, slightly. “It is imperative that the rest of your energy and matter follows and reforms properly, lest you damage your vessel.”

                He realized after saying it that he probably should have said “body” instead of vessel, since it technically _was_ Sam’s body, unlike his own stolen form. Sam didn’t seem to mind, though, and just nodded as he thought it over.

                “Sounds dangerous. How do I learn?”

                _Typical_ , Cas thought. Leave it to a Winchester to be relatively undeterred by the danger associated with something. Careful, yes, but still undeterred. He knew that if he suggested it, Sam would probably try to launch himself across the junkyard right there, confident in Cas’ abilities to guide him. _He trusts me._ He wasn’t sure if he really deserved Sam’s trust, but it felt nice to have and it made him want to earn it. He also wanted to make sure Sam continued to be around to give it to him.

                “I will fly us both, first. I want you to focus on the flow of my Grace as I move us. You don’t need to see my true wings to do it – the grace flowing through them will be clear enough.”

                Sam nodded again, spreading his wings as if to stabilize himself. They both knew the action would do exactly nothing, but it was a mostly uncontrolled response. Cas focused on a spot a few metres away from them and reached out to Sam’s forehead to fly them there.

                He did the flight more slowly than he usually would have. In most situations, flying was virtually instantaneous for him, as it was for all angels. This time, however, he slowed it down so they took a few seconds to actually move, and in doing so gave Sam a chance to feel as his Grace rushed through his wings and pulled them both into and through the fabric of space itself.

                Sam let out a soft exhale when they arrived, and even without empathy Cas would have recognized the wonder in his face. “That was … **awe-inspiring**.” He grinned up at Cas, who felt his vessel’s mouth curving up almost imperceptibly in return. “How do I do it?”

                He made Sam travel with him a few more times before letting him try on his own. He trusted Sam a great deal – the man had gone through a lot and could obviously handle himself – but he still wanted to be absolutely sure that he was safe. After a few more jumps, however, he had to admit that nothing more would be learned until Sam tried to fly himself.

                “Expand your awareness into the world around you,” he instructed. “Feel the place you wish to go, and send your Grace to it, channeled through your wings. Your body should follow, but you need to try not to resist its dissipation into particles.”

                Sam swallowed his sudden surge of trepidation and stared with concentration across the junkyard. Cas watched his Grace, relaxing slightly as it flowed through Sam’s wings and to the correct location. Sam completed the flight without incident, taking longer than an angel usually would, but arriving in one piece nonetheless.

                He could feel Sam’s exhilaration. Cas wasn’t used to such emotion in a positive manner – he felt anger frequently from Dean, and from Sam. He felt desperation from both of them as the Apocalypse approached and passed. He felt relief when they all survived something, and sorrow when someone didn’t. He’d felt shy hopes and teasing comfort from both of them, and from others. But he’d never really felt anything like the burst of bright energy that Sam radiated from across the yard.

                Sam was speechless for several moments, and limited to exclamations in Enochian for a few moments more, before finally speaking intelligibly again. “That… That was way better to try myself.” He grinned at him. “Can I do it again?”

                Sam spent the next portion of the night flying back and forth across the junkyard, reaching increasingly more specific locations as his skills developed. Much to his relief, there were no mishaps or accidents in the training. Castiel thought back to his own early experiences with flying. He’d been told repeatedly that he didn’t feel emotion; that he wasn’t allowed to. He didn’t think it was nearly as strong as what Sam was feeling now, but he clearly remembered a distinctly emotional flash of elation in those early flights. Remembering it made him smile, and he thought he understood why Sam was so happy to learn this particular lesson.

                It was several hours before Sam had finally exhausted all of the possible landing spots in Bobby’s junkyard. He turned back to Cas, still glowing (literally, to angelic vision, as tendrils of his grace reached out to embrace his surroundings). “How far can I go?”

                “Flight is not limited by space. You can go anywhere. Time travel is slightly more challenging, because time is complicated by the potential for change.”

                “Can I take you somewhere with me?” Sam clearly knew that he could, so Cas took the question to be a request for instructions.

                “Yes. Just touch my forehead as I did with you, and pull my energy with yours when you go.” Cas wasn’t very much worried for his own safety as they travelled. If something went wrong, he was capable of taking control and landing himself and Sam safely, now that Sam knew enough to help him should that be necessary.

                Fortunately, it wasn’t. Sam reached out and touched him (and he never would get used to that gesture from the other end) and Cas felt Sam’s Grace pulling at his own, guiding them both through space until they arrived on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

                “Where are we?” Cas knew _where_ they were, obviously. He could feel their technical location on the globe, and could probably have pointed it out on a map. What he really wanted to know was where they were _to Sam_. “Why here?”

                Sam shrugged, looking out at the glittering expanse of seawater spread out below them. “When I was travelling with Dean and Dad, we used to pass through a town near here. I enjoyed leaving sometimes, on walks. **I blew off some steam, got some space**. This place is … secluded, but close enough to town to be safe. I like it.”

                Cas nodded. It was peaceful here, and he could understand why Sam would have sought out a place like this as a youth – or an adult. “Thank you for showing it to me. It is very beautiful.”

                “I always came here alone.” Sam folded his wings closer to himself, seemingly unafraid of the cliff face almost under his feet. “It is nice not to be alone all the time.”

                It _was_ nice. He found himself reassured by Sam’s presence; found it a great relief to know that there was someone who liked to be around him for _who_ he was rather than _what_. He hadn’t really believed it at first, but Sam really seemed to just enjoy his company. He didn’t want him there as a solider to command, a leader to obey, an enemy to fight, or a tool to use. It was surprisingly refreshing to feel that – for whatever reason – someone just genuinely liked being near him.

                It was almost as surprising to realize that he liked being around Sam, too. He hadn’t been expecting to make friends with him, when they’d first met. Sam was _Lucifer’s vessel_. He was tainted with demon blood, and he was an abomination. Of course, Castiel himself was probably an abomination after what he’d done, but he thought there was more to it than that. Sam had mentioned once or twice that he felt anger strongly, and to be fair Cas could usually sense the emotion in him, simmering under the surface. He had noticed, however, that the ever-present anger was only a fragment of the passion that Sam usually felt. Of everyone Cas had met, Sam had the greatest reason to be bitter and dark inside, but he wasn’t. More often than not, his anger was only a backdrop for other, brighter emotions. He, more than anyone, had love, and faith in goodness, and the ever-present hope that things could be okay – maybe not always for himself, but for _someone_.

                The faith was something Cas had seen frequently in other angels, but that kind of _hope_ for an unknown future was something new. It was something Cas thought he needed badly, although there was a small part of his mind which whispered _‘and if you had not hoped, had not dared to try, would Heaven still be whole?’_

                Sam was still there beside him, enjoying the view. Cas took it all in, and Sam’s soft, warm happiness, and tried to let his apprehension fade away. There wasn’t much left that he needed to teach Sam now – no other way to procrastinate, to stay and enjoy his company for another day.

                When morning dawned, he would have to return to Heaven.


	8. Heaven and Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean hang out and chat while Cas goes to Heaven.

                They returned to Bobby’s when the sun was fully in the sky and they knew that Dean wouldn’t yell at them if they woke him up. Both Sam and Castiel flew to the junkyard and approached the house on foot – Cas would have just appeared near Dean and Bobby, but he had learned (eventually) that it freaked people (Dean) out when he did that.

                Dean greeted them when they reached the door, approaching to say hello and ensure that nobody had done something stupid or dangerous while he was sleeping. Bobby just grunted at them from the kitchen.

                “Where were you two? I thought you guys were just going to stay around the junkyard.” Dean looked a little accusing, but not seriously pissed off.

                “I was teaching Sam to fly, and thought it best for us to expand our range,” Cas responded. “We did not travel anywhere dangerous.”

                Sam nodded in confirmation, and Dean relaxed a bit. Now it was Cas’ turn to be tense.

                “I believe Sam has learned all that he can from me. Everything else is a matter of practice, and he is definitely not going to accidentally pose a danger to people now.” Sam and Dean smiled. Cas took a breath. “And now I need to return to Heaven.”

                The smiles dropped. Dean was the first to speak. “Now? I mean, it can’t be safe for you up there.”

                Sam’s eyes echoed Dean’s sentiment, but more quietly.

                “I know,” he said, “But I told you I must return, and I intend to do it.”

                There was a moment as everyone considered. Bobby had come out from the kitchen and stood in the doorway, watching with what passed (for him) as a sympathetic expression.

                Eventually, Sam spoke. “If it is what you must do, **I wish you well** ”. This time, Cas knew the Enochian was intentional – an expression used specifically to wish someone well on an uncertain path. He said nothing more, but he could see Sam’s wings bending slightly towards him.

                “Well,” Dean said. “Just try to come back, okay?”

                Cas heard the note of forgiveness in his voice and smiled at him, grateful. “I will try.”

                With one last look at the three of them – Sam’s worried, but understanding gaze; Dean’s unspoken forgiveness, and Bobby’s silent encouragement – he took flight.

***

                Bobby managed to rope both Sam and Dean into helping him with research that day. It was technically Sam’s turn, but Bobby had told Dean in no uncertain terms that he had to distract himself somehow, and there really wasn’t any work to be done on the Impala. Research wasn’t his favourite thing to do, but he supposed it was better than nothing.

                Looking over at Sam, he thought that his brother was just as grateful for the distraction as he was.

                “So, what did you guys spend all that time at night doing, anyway?” Dean asked. In a way, the fact that Sam didn’t need to sleep anymore reminded him unnervingly of when he was soulless, but it helped that he knew where his brother had been. Mostly.

                “We practiced things,” Sam said, flipping through an old book on Chinese water spirits. “Senses, flight, telepathy, and“- here he broke off and compensated for the forgotten word with vague hand gestures- “… moving stuff.”

                “Telekinesis?” Dean supplied helpfully.

                “Yeah. Telekinesis. And we talked, too.”

                “Yeah? What about?” Dean didn’t want to pry, but he also didn’t want the conversation to lapse off into mutually worried silence.

                “Stories, mostly. Cas has a lot of history.”

                “Yeah, I bet he does.” Talking about Cas was not helping Dean in the slightest, so he decided to change the topic. “So you’ve mostly got all this angel-mojo stuff figured out?”

                Sam nodded. “Yeah. Everything is still strange, though.” He gestured at his back, where striped purple wings were still manifested. “I mean…”

                “Yeah,” Dean was still trying to get used to all of this himself, so he figured it must be even worse for Sam. “It’s gotta be a lot to get used to, with the new abilities and the wings an all.”

                “It is – _it’s_ more than that.” Sam put aside his book, not really focused on it anyway. “Everything is different, as though I am seeing more of it than before. But I know it is only me who has changed. And…” He sighed. “More than the Grace, there is all of… _this_.” He gestured around them at the room and the rest of the world. “English and real places and people. I remember everything… Hundreds of years ago, but also just a few days. It was days, but it feels like centuries.”

                Dean didn’t really know what to say to that. He knew how it felt to feel like you were gone for decades when it had only been months, knew what it was like to feel as though you had become something else while you were gone, but those were things he desperately avoided talking about, and he wasn’t really sure that rehashing them would actually help his brother. Instead, he settled on something lighter. “But you’re doing tons better with the speaking, you know.” He smirked. “Still got that accent, though. Makes you sound like some sort of super-powerful bookkeeper.” He relaxed his face into a smile. “It kinda suits you, actually.”

                Sam met his eyes, and Dean could see the mixture of hope and fear warring in them. He continued speaking. “You’ve been lots of things, Sammy. Demon-spawn, Lucifer, Soulless…” He tried to ignore Sam’s winces and ploughed on. “But right now, you’re still _you_ , and at least part of you was through most of that stuff, too, but I’d take this version over those any day.

                He saw the look on Sam’s face and sighed to himself. _It’s already a chick-flick moment, so I might as well just get it over with._ Reaching out to take his brother’s hand, he said firmly, “You’re still you, and you’re still my brother, and that’s what matters. Now,” he said, reaching back to his half-forgotten book. “What do you say we find out what this thing is for Bobby, huh?”

                Sam nodded, and Dean thought that his eyes and wings looked a little lighter than they had before. “Okay, yeah.” And then, more quietly, “Thanks.”

***

                Castiel had some idea of what to expect when he reached Heaven once again. After all, he remembered what he’d done to it. He knew it was going to hurt. He was right.

                It wasn’t quite as chaotic as he’d anticipated, but it was close. With Rafael and himself both out of the picture, leadership had evidently fallen to a small handful of angels who reluctantly cooperated as a sort of makeshift council for leadership. A few short moments on “Angel Radio” was enough to realize it wouldn’t last, but it was apparently working for now. Castiel would have been reassured by the presence of even temporary order had it not been for everything else.

                To a human, he was certain the landscape around him would look quite different; there was only so much a mortal mind could process, after all. Castiel, however, saw Heaven for what it was: a vast collection of energies and patterns expanding outward into eternity. There would once have been harmony here, intricacies and whorls of energy spreading in a vast web to connect everyone in Heaven, save for the few places that remained concealed even to angelic vision.

                Now, the patterns were lost and confused, and there was a painful ache in the tattered webs where more Grace – more angels – should have been. It was fragmented and torn and it was all his fault, and he knew it. They knew it, too.

                It took him no more than an instant to process the current state of Heaven, and only another instant for him to be contacted by this newly appointed “council”. He quickly found himself before them, and although he had expected this moment he found he had no idea what to say. He settled on silence.

                **“Castiel,”** one of the angels said, evidently speaking for the group. **“What are you doing here?”** The anger and accusation was clear in his tone, but Castiel didn’t wince. He had expected as much.

                **“I had to return. I did this“** – and although he knew they were communicating as energy rather than form, he could have sworn his voice broke a little – **“I need to fix it, somehow.”**

 **“You? Fix this?”** The scepticism was clear enough that even he caught onto it. **“Have you not done enough, Castiel?”** The angel’s voice hardened further. **“We do not want you here.”**

                Castiel knew that. Actually, he was surprised he was still here and not being violently attacked and made to pay for all he had done. He supposed that, after everything, no one really wanted more angels to be dead.

                **“I know my presence is not welcome,”** he began, trying to think of how to communicate his feelings. **“But is it not my responsibility to fix this problem that I have created? What else am I to do? I cannot reverse my actions now, however much I might wish to do so. All I can do is repent for them.”**

                He waited, held by the appraising glares of the council. He thought he could feel something in Heaven burning around him, the last embers of his insanity. He didn’t regret his decision to return here, but he didn’t know how much more of this he could take. He waited for what felt like an eternity.

                Finally, the leader of the council spoke to him again. **“We understand your impulse to return, but _we do not want you here_.” ** He paused for a moment, silently convening with the rest of the group. **“You are to leave here and return to Earth, leaving us to rebuild. We are not here to offer you repentance, but we will be watching you. One day, if we have deemed you worthy, we may decide to let you return. Until then, if you do not leave, or if you return here voluntarily, we will kill you.”** He paused to let his words sink in. **“Is that clear?”**

                Castiel gave the equivalent of a nod, unable to do anything else. Perhaps he should have spoken, but he wasn’t really being given a choice, so what was there to say? This – being forcibly evicted from his home – was more than he could hope to deserve. Had he been given the chance, he would have stayed to help, whatever the cost to his mental and emotional state. As it was, all that there was to do was return to Earth. To the Winchesters. To Sam and Dean.

                As he took flight from Heaven, he resolved that this time, he would not fail them. If he could not rebuild his old home, he would try his best to support his new one.

***

                They fidgeted around Bobby’s place until Cas returned that evening. Sam wasn’t certain how long things had really been for him, since he thought time probably passed differently in Heaven, but he did know that sometime shortly after dusk the angel appeared in the study with them. Sam tried not to jump, but he still felt his wings flare out briefly in surprise.

                As in most cases, Dean was the first to speak. “Cas! What happened? Are you okay?”

                Sam wanted to know the answers just as badly as Dean did. Castiel didn’t look like he’d been attacked, but there was something sad in his eyes and if Sam shifted his vision slightly, he could see his wings drooping.

                “I am uninjured,” Cas reassured them. “However, Heaven was … unwilling to accept my offer to help. I have been ordered to stay away unless they call me back.”

                This time it was Sam who spoke. “I am sorry,” he said softly. “That must be hard for you.” Although he knew Cas cared deeply for his home and was sad to be cast from it, he suspected that the greatest disappointment was being unable to right his wrongs. Sam could imagine how painful that must be, particularly for someone like Castiel.

                They sat in silence for a moment, pondering the situation. Bobby broke the moment, practical as always. “So what are you gonna do now?”

                Cas looked uncomfortable for a moment before he covered it up with his usual poker face, but Sam could tell he was still nervous. “I was hoping I could travel with you two, if you would have me,” he said, then quickly added, “I understand if you would rather I leave.”

                Sam knew he wasn’t the one Cas was worried about kicking him out, but he leapt in to reassure the angel anyway. “Of course you may travel with us. Right, Dean?” he asked, shooting his brother a pointed look that said ‘ _Now would be the time to actually tell him you’re done being pissed.’_ Sam knew Dean had been angry for a while, but he thought his brother had started to thaw towards Cas again, and after everything Sam and Dean had done themselves, he didn’t think Dean could stay mad forever. Dean may have started to forgive Cas, but he hadn’t actually said as much and Sam knew it was his job to make Dean say stuff like that – and it wasn’t a job he was about to shirk now, when Cas really needed to hear it.

                He was right. Dean sighed and turned to Cas. “Yeah, man, ‘course you can come with us.” Sam glared at him again and he cleared his throat. “Look, we both know I was angry with you for what you did – for not coming to us instead – but it’s done, and I’d still rather you be with us than out on your own.” He glanced quickly between Sam and Cas. “I know you and Sam are okay now – better than okay – and I don’t want to be the one to push you out.” He tried a little half-smile. “Come with us, Cas.”

                Sam took a moment to abuse his new powers and sent Dean a telepathic _‘Thank you.’_ To his credit, Dean managed not to react beyond a loudly-thought _‘What the Hell! You’re welcome, but speaking into my head is frigging creepy, man.’_

Cas, oblivious to their conversation, was smiling at them with a shy hope that was oddly juxtaposed against the vast range of experience they knew he held. “Thank you,” he managed at last. “Both of you.”

                Bobby broke into the conversation once again, having evidently decided that things had gotten too emotional and had to be reigned back in. “Well, this is lovely, but where do you idjits think you’re going to go? Do you even have a case lined up?”

                When Dean guiltily cleared his throat and became very interested in looking at the carpet, Bobby continued with a smile. “I thought as much. You two have been so busy fidgeting with research here that you never got around to looking, huh? Well, luckily for you, I _did_.” All three of the others turned to look at him. “Found you a case a few hours from here. Three people missing in unusual circumstances in a week.”

                “Uh, thanks, Bobby,” Dean said.

                “Yeah, thanks.” Sam echoed.

                Bobby waved it away. “You think I wanted you guys crowding this place up any longer than necessary? It’s about time you three got gone.” His voice softened. “But you’re welcome back any time.”

                Dean yawned. “Well, I know _you two_ don’t have to sleep, but us mortals are tired. We can leave in the morning.”

                Sam and Cas nodded, and left for the junkyard to give Dean and Bobby time to rest.


	9. Continuing Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter, but I'm planning on doing a bit more with this universe, so if you have any ideas for something you'd like to see (other than smut, which I don't write), let me know!

                Sam still had a lot of things he could be practicing, but there wasn’t anything else he particularly _needed_ to learn from Cas that night with respect to his new abilities. Considering what had just transpired between Castiel and Heaven, therefore, it was no surprise that they found themselves simply leaning against one of the old junkers and talking.

                “Thank you for helping me through all this,” Sam said. He really wanted to broach the topic of Castiel and Heaven, but wasn’t sure how. “I enjoy spending time with you.” He didn’t want Cas to assume that he only valued his help – he truly enjoyed the angel’s company, too.

                Cas nodded, gazing up at the stars above them. “I enjoy your company also,” he said, pausing to reflect in the darkness. “And helping you gave me something with which I could distract myself from what I had done. It gave me something I knew was right.”

                They were silent a long while, listening to the not-silence of the night around them. At length, Sam spoke again. “I am glad that you will be coming with us.” On reflection, he realized how that sounded and hastened to correct himself, slipping into Enochian as he did so. **“Uh, not because I am glad that Heaven sent you away, because I am not, but It will be nice to have you around more,”** he floundered.

                Cas held up a hand to stop his babbling. **“I understand. I am grateful to you and your brother for allowing my presence.”**

                **“I know, but we really do not mind.”** Suddenly, something occurred to Sam. **“Does it bother you now if I speak in Enochian?”** He wouldn’t want to painfully remind Cas of the one place he couldn’t go.

                Cas took a while to answer, but Sam could tell from the set of his wings (he was getting better at reading them, now that he could see them) that he was being truthful. **“I do not mind, but I appreciate your concern.”** He gave one of his patented half-smiles. **“It is good to hear the words, though I cannot return.”**

                Sam heard the subtle ache in his voice. **“You really will miss it.”** It wasn’t a question, though he had to admit that he couldn’t really understand what if must be like. He’d never had that kind of home, so he had no idea how it must feel to have one and then lose it. Not to mention that, from what he could tell, Heaven was kind of corrupt anyway – even before everything Cas had done. **“What was it like? If you do not mind.”** He didn’t want to offend Cas, but he was genuinely curious, and sometimes talking about stuff like this helped – no matter what Dean said.

                **“It was … ordered,”** Cas said, after a moment’s consideration. He didn’t seem perturbed by Sam’s question. **“I am one of the youngest of my brethren; I have but a few memories of a time before Lucifer fell, before Gabriel left and God left and Michael hid himself away. I do not remember when it was a place of peace, but in all my memories it is a place of order and certainty. No matter what happened on Earth, it was always supposed to be there – a firm place to hold and know was safe.”** He took a deep breath. **“Now…”**

                He didn’t finish the sentence, but Sam could feel the pain layered into that one word. For once, he didn’t really have anything to say, so instead he sent Cas a tentative stream of emotion. Telepathically, he sent him his sympathy and his love, and tried his best to be comforting, because the emotion was more important than any words he could have come up with.

                Cas shifted, briefly surprised by the mental contact, but soon returned the gesture, sharing with Sam his sorrow and regret and almost painful gratefulness and love. He felt reluctance at first, as though Cas was hesitant to burden Sam with his pain, but when he didn’t flinch or shy away the reluctance changed to a rush of thanks and something almost – but not quite – like peace.

                They stayed like that for a long while: leaning side by side against the car, staring up at the stars and just sharing emotions. After an indeterminate amount of time, Sam felt Cas start to show him experiences, too, and he reciprocated in kind. They took turns sharing stories, simple things at first, then deeper, more personal.

                Sam showed Cas his early memories of Dean – reading to him, playing games with him, trying to reassure him when Dad was out on a hunt for days at a time. Cas shared his early memories of creation – fish crawling out of water, plants developing into trees, the first time some distant ancestor of humanity had discovered fire. They kept it up like that – Sam working his way through teenage fights with his father, and his time at Stamford and losing Jess, and eventually his perspective of the entire Apocalypse debacle. Cas, in turn, showed Sam his memories of learning to fly, of working with other angels at the garrison, of meeting Sam and Dean and struggling with his doubt, and, finally, of the long and painful story with Purgatory and Crowley and the Leviathans.

                By mutual understanding, they both kept to themselves anything that they suspected Dean wouldn’t want them to share, but by the time they had finished the sun was almost coming up, and Sam thought he knew Castiel better than he ever had before. He suspected Castiel felt the same.

                He’d heard Cas tell him some of these stories before – heck, he’d _been_ there for some of them – but it was somehow different to really see them from his point of view. He really understood now why Cas had done everything he had, and any lingering traces of resentment vanished quickly under the influx of experiences. He was almost certain that something similar was happening to Cas.

                When they had finally slowed their telepathic storytelling, Sam turned to the angel with a smile in his wings. **“Thank you,”** he said, simply but honestly, using one of the strongest Enochian phrases he knew to convey the meaning.

                Cas inclined his head and responded in kind.

                Sam had slightly widened the limits of his senses, and he and Cas heard the sounds from inside the house at roughly the same time. It was Castiel who spoke, returning to English. “It looks like your brother is awake.”

                “Yeah,” Sam said. “I suppose we should go in soon. He does not like it when we are gone upon his awakening.”

                He smiled at Cas and received a smile in return, and together they headed in to start the day.

***

                Dean had just gotten up for the day when Sam and Cas came back into the house. He hadn’t finished his coffee yet, and Sam apparently didn’t need any, so he put his younger brother in charge of packing for the road. With Bobby still asleep and Cas clueless as to the packing process, that left him sitting at the kitchen table and watching Castiel over his coffee cup.

                Cas was watching him intently, probably because he had nothing better to do. Dean decided that watching someone else drink coffee couldn’t be very interesting, even for Castiel, and tried to strike up a conversation. “So, uh, how are you doing this morning?” It was a crappy conversation piece and he knew it, but he’d just gotten up and he somehow suspected that he wouldn’t really know what to say even if he’d been fully awake.

                Cas, being Cas, took the question seriously. “I am well, though I must admit to a certain level of discomfort at being unable to atone for my mistakes.”

                Dean sighed and willed the caffeine in his system to kick in soon. He felt this conversation probably warranted his full attention. “Cas,” he began. “We all know you messed up pretty badly back there, and I get that you want to have a chance to fix what you did. But,” he said, trying to find the right words. “You can’t always wrap everything up in a nice little bow and get a clean ending.” He thought back to his time in Hell, and the things he did there which still haunted him every time they had to forcibly obtain information from a demon. “I wish you could, but sometimes the best you can do is stop looking for an ending and find a beginning instead.”

                Cas angled his head slightly, pondering. At length, he seemed to reach a conclusion. “I believe I would like to try. Could you let this be my beginning?”

                Dean thought he knew what Cas was asking. “Sure, Cas. I mean, I gave Sam a clean start – or tried to, anyway – after what he did. Stands to reason you get one too.” He smiled a little, slightly more awake now that his coffee was mostly gone. “It’s good to know you’ll be with us, man.”

                Cas softened his expression from pensive anticipation into relief. “Thank you, Dean. I believe I will enjoy travelling with you.” After a brief moment, his expression changed slightly, although Dean couldn’t place just how. “And with Sam”

                “Yeah,” Dean said. “You’ve been getting to spend a lot of time with him lately, with all those nights talking. You two are getting closer now, huh?”

                Cas smiled softly. “I enjoy his company.”

                Dean thought back to Sam recounting some of Cas’ stories to him the day before while they passed the time. “I think he enjoys yours, too.”

***

                Sam finished packing their bags for the road and headed into Bobby’s kitchen to meet Cas and Dean, who were chatting easily as Dean tried to explain Star Trek to Cas.

                “Yeah, so then the Romulans joined the war, since they thought that-“ Dean broke off his lengthy explanation of fictional history when he saw Sam. “Oh, hey. We good to go?”

                “You mean, have I done all your packing for you?” Sam asked drily. “Yes.”

                Sam had felt Bobby wake up a few minutes ago, and turned to greet the older hunter precisely as he walked into the kitchen.

                “Good morning, Bobby,” he said, turning to greet the older hunter.

                Bobby grunted. “You keep your angelic feelers to yourself, boy. I don’t want you messing around in my head.”

                Sam smiled, and tried to look reassuring. “I am not reading your mind, Bobby. I just … keep an eye on your presence.” He considered his words. “And Dean’s,” he added, to avoid a repeat of the conversation later.

                Bobby gave in, grudgingly. “Fine. I guess in our line of work a little paranoia never hurt.” He scowled, but it was mostly an act. “Just as long as I can keep my thoughts to myself. It’s bad enough knowing the trench coat can read my mind without you doing it to.”

                Cas’ wings twitched in mild defensiveness. “I endeavour not to read the minds of humans anymore unless it becomes necessary. I have learned that many people do not appreciate it.”

                Dean seemed relieved for a moment or two before realization dawned in his eyes. “That’s good… What do mean, anymore?”

                “I did not originally realize the importance humans placed on their mental privacy,” Cas admitted. “Also, your mind broadcasts itself and is very difficult to ignore.”

                Castiel was right. Even though he tried to block out the thoughts and feelings of others, for their sakes, Sam felt the flash of emotion from Dean and decided to head off the commentary he knew was coming.

                “He is right,” he said, knowing his “touchy-feely crap”-hating brother despised the idea that his emotions were so loud Sam had always been able to pick them up even _without_ anything supernatural. “You are … loud.”

                Dean’s flush of embarrassment shouldn’t have been amusing, but Sam would take entertainment where he could get it, and besides, he was still enjoying the mere presence of his brother in reality, rather than just as a memory. It was nice to see Dean react to the situation and know that it wasn’t just something he was imagining to entertain himself and two bored archangels.

                Dean groaned. “Let’s just go, okay? It’s too early for you two to be teaming up against me.”

                “Three, actually,” Bobby chimed in, apparently more of a morning person than he let on. “You _are_ pretty frigging obvious sometimes, ya idjit.”

                Dean groaned again, but good-naturedly, and the atmosphere was light as they headed to the door to go. Sam and Dean hugged Bobby good-bye, promising to keep him updated on anything interesting that might come up. Cas just nodded at him seriously from a distance, and Bobby responded in kind. A few minutes later, they were back in the familiar seats of the Impala, headed off on a new journey.

***

                It was about ten minute into the car ride before Dean shot Sam a glance from the driver’s seat and fought with the comical expression forcing its way onto his face.

                “Hey, um, Sammy?”

                “Yes, Dean?” Sam asked.

                Dean suppressed a smirk – badly. “Think you may want to dial the otherworldliness down a few notches?”

                “What?” Sam had to think for a few moments before realizing what his brother was talking about. He gave Dean a sheepish frown as it dawned on him. “Oh.”

                He’d gotten so used to having his wings out that it hadn’t even occurred to him to put them away when they started out again. He knew, of course, that he’d have to keep them hidden when they were in public, but he had honestly just forgotten about it entirely. With a reluctant sigh, he focused and folded the wings back into invisibility. It was a bit uncomfortable, and he felt his centre of balance shift a little, and his shoulder blades itched like hell, but at least he wasn’t going to draw too much unwanted attention now.

                “Thanks.” He caught Dean staring at him a little again, and tried to remember if there was anything else he had to hide. “What?”

                Dean quickly shifted his glance back to the road. Cas, coincidentally, looked considerably more relaxed when he did so, letting up on the disapproving stares he’d been giving Dean while he neglected his focus in favour of eye contact with Sam.

                “Nothing,” he said, before adding a few miles later. “It’s just … nice, you know? That we’re all here, and nobody’s really hurt, and you’re still you and Cas is back with us and the world isn’t ending for once.” He laughed, and there was a hint of bitterness in it, but also a touch of something else, something lighter. “I mean, there’re still bad guys out there, and I don’t expect it to last, but…” he trailed off, so Sam finished for him.

                “Yeah,” he said. “It _is_ nice.”

                Cas made a confirming noise from the back, and Sam could see the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Sam met his eyes and felt a surge of warmth and affection flow through him. Dean was right. They were here, and he was glad of it. True, there was still part of him that honestly believed he would one day leave this life of hunting, but it was no longer a pressing need. He knew he had time, and when he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine living any kind of a life without Dean and Cas there with him. They weren’t ready to leave yet – they both needed the hunting, Dean for purpose and Cas for redemption – but he could wait. He had time.

                He had them, too, and he figured that for now, that was all that mattered. He was different, he knew, and he always would be. His memories of the Cage were still vivid in his mind, and now that they had left Bobby’s, each road sign reminded him of something he’d forgotten from before. English would probably never again seem like his first language, and he suspected that he would always carry an Enochian accent (and wouldn’t _that_ one be fun to try to explain to people), and that wasn’t even mentioning this whole _angelic Grace_ thing and everything it meant.

                He was changed. Time and Grace had changed him. But when it came down to it, he was himself, and he was with people he loved, and although it was a familiar pattern, he thought maybe it was also the start of something new.

                Dean was in the driver’s seat next to him, singing along to some obnoxious “classic” while Cas looked mildly confused from the back. Sam smiled at both of them, watching as the sun rose in the sky. A new beginning. He thought he could live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism is always appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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